
m iHl 




HSSn^^mBK Eft 
■■■■■■■■ 



ilBfiHiBBHs 

HmGndUkhB 



HhKk 




aBsm 

«2«P ^b Eli 



■n 

fflUSM 




" : I Hi 







HHHHH 
H Hi 

HHHH 

JBHS 

1 

HHHHHhH 



THE 

DIARY OF AN INVALID 

BEING THE JOURNAL OF A TOUR 

IN PURSUIT OF HEALTH 

IN PORTUGAL ITALY SWITZERLAND 
AND FRANCE 

IN THE YEARS 1817 1818 and 1819 



BY HENRY MATTHEWS Esq. A. M 

FELLOW OF KING'S COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE 



talking of the Alps and Apennines 



The Pyrensean and the River Po Shakspeare 



SECOND EDITION 



LONDON 
JOHN MURRAY 

MDCCCXX 



,M44 



LONDON 

Printed by W. Clowes, Northumberland-court. 






TO THE 

Rev. ARTHUR MATTHEWS B.D. 

FELLOW OF BRAZENOSE COLLEGE OXFORD 

AND 

PREBENDARY OF HEREFORD 

THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED 

AS A TOKEN OF ESTEEM AND FRIENDSHIP 

BY HIS FAITHFUL AND AFFECTIONATE BROTHER 

THE AUTHOR 



ADVERTISEMENT 
TO THE SECOND EDITION. 

THE immediate demand for a new edition of " The 
Diary of an Invalid," has furnished the author with 
a fresh inducement, to endeavour, as far as the time 
would permit, to render it less unworthy of public 
attention. 

Some passages have been altered, and some addi- 
tions made ; and, with a view to facilitate the task of 
perusal, the narrative has been broken into chapters ; 
in order that the reader may be conducted, by easier 
stages, from one end of the volume to the other. 

Without interruptions of this kind, indeed, as Field- 
ing says, the best narrative must overpower every 
reader ; for nothing short of the everlasting watch- 
fulness which Homer has ascribed to Jove himself, 
can be proof against a continued newspaper. 



PREFACE. 



The following pages may seem to require 
some apology, being as they are the trans- 
cript of a Journal, written to amuse the 
hours of indisposition, without any idea of 
publication. 

From these materials, I was induced, 
upon my return to England, to begin an ac- 
count of my travels in a more serious and 
sustained style of composition ; but my work 
was arrested, by hearing from those, to whose 
judgment I have deferred, that I was labour- 
ing only to deprive my Journal of almost 
all that made it interesting in its original 
form; — like an indifferent artist, whose 
finished picture has often less to recommend 
it, than his first rough sketch from nature. 
Though this may be no excuse, for publish- 
ing a Volume at all ; yet, it will at least 
serve to explain, why that Volume has ap- 
peared in its present shape* 



Vlll PREFACE. 

Iii preparing it for the press, I have been 
less solicitous to add, than to take away; 
but, in adhering to the original Diary, it was 
impossible to avoid frequent egotism; so 
that if I should be found on many occasions, 
uninteresting or even impertinent, I fear I 
have nothing to plead in my excuse, but 
must throw myself entirely on the charitable 
consideration of the Reader. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Page 

LISBON . 10 

Cintra 16 

Police of Lisbon 22 

Superstition of the People . . . . 23 

Leghorn Roads . . . . . .33 

Quarantine ....... 35 

PISA 36 

FLORENCE 38 

The Gallery 40 

Venus de Medicis .... 43, 263 

Pitti Palace 45 

Canova's Venus 48 

Countess of Albany 49 

Pitti Collection of Paintings .... 52 

Raphael . . 53 

Vandyke .... 54 

Salvator Rosa 55 

Gabinetto Fisico 56 

Santa Croce . . 57 

ROME . • • 64 

Forum . . . . . . . .69 

Palace of the Csesars ... . 71 

Climate . . .... 72 



X CONTENTS. 

ROME (continued.) p age 

Tiber 74 

Cloaca Maxima 76 

Baths of Caracalla 78 

Fountain of Egeria . . . . .79 

St. Peter's 81 

Resemblance between Catholic and Heathen 

Ceremonies . . . . . .90 

Baths of Dioclesian ..... 95 

Funeral Ceremonies in Rome .... 96 

Palaces 98 

Fountains . 103 

Pantheon . . ., . . .104 

Tarpeian Rock . 105 

Close of the Year 107 

Pope's Chapel 109 

Italian Women 113 

Michael Angelo — Last Judgment . . .114 

Modern Capitol 119 

Mamertine Prisons 122 

Canova 124, 134, 229 

Thorwaldson 127, 229 

Princess Pauline 128 

Vatican 129 

Galleries of Raphael 130 

The Transfiguration . . . . . 131 

Apollo Belvedere . . . . . , . 132 

Laocoon 136 

System of Robbery .... 140,168 

Festival of St. Anthony, and Blessing of Horses 141 
Roman Arts ...... 143 

Festival in St. Peter's . .144 

Carnival . . . .149 

Improvisatrice . . . ,151 



CONTENTS. XI 

ROME (continued.) Page 

Baths of Titus . . . . .152 

Coliseum . . . . .155 

Pasquin's Statue . . . . .159 

End of the Carvival . . . .163 

Pontine Marshes . . . . . .167 

Capua . . . . . 171 

NAPLES . . ... 172 

Pompeii . . . ... 177 

Museo Borbonico . . . . .185 

Italian Parties . . . . 190 

Neapolitan Army . . . .195 

Virgil's Tomb . . . . 197 

Puzzuoli. — Baiee . . . .199 

Monte Nuovo .... . . 200 

Avernus. — Tomb of Scipio .... 201 

Solfaterra ..... 202 

Grotta del Cane . . . ... 203 

Gaming Table . . . . . 207 

Burial of the Dead in Naples . . .211 

Catholic Ceremonies . . . .213 

Portici Museum ..... 214 

Murat ....... 217 

Vesuvius ..... 219 

Herculaneum ... . 220 

Lazzaroni . . . ... 225 

Opera — Music ... ... 225 

ROME 228 

Criminal Guillotined . . . 229 

Tivoli 233 

Claude Lorraine . . . 234 

Lunatic Asylum . . 235 

Roman Politics ... .• 236 






XU CONTENTS. 

ROME (continued.) Pa & e 

Computation of Time .... 239 

Italian Preaching ... . 240 

Treatment of Robbers . . . 243 

Serenading . . . . 244 

Paganini . . . . .245 

Papal Blessing . . . *'. . 246 

Leave Rome for Florence . . . . 247 

Falls of Terni . . . . 249 

State of Agriculture in Tuscany . . . 254 

FLORENCE 256 

State of Society in Italy .... 257 
Cavaliere servente System . . . 259 
Origin of the Italian Language . . . 264 
Bologna 270 

VENICE . . . . . 274 

St. Mark's Place . . . .275 

Ducal Palace . . ... 276 

Fall of the Republic . . . 277 

Titian . . . . . .280 

Rialto 282 

Gold Chain Manufacture . . .283 

Leave Venice for Milan 285 

Verona . ..... 287 

Emperor Napoleon ..... 289 

Paternal Government of Austria . . . 293 

MILAN . ... .296 

LakeofComo . .... 303 

Lago Maggiore ..... 305 

Simplon Road . ... . .307 

SWITZERLAND .... .312 

Goitres . . . . . .313 

Cretins . . . • . .314 



CONTENTS. Xlll 

SWITZERLAND (continued) Page 

Pisse Vache . 315 

Clarens 316 

LAUSANNE 317, 326 

Martigny 318 

Great St. Bernard . ■ 320 

Lake of Geneva 324 

Pays de Vaud 326 

Observance of Sunday 328 

BERN 331 

Constitution of Switzerland .... 333 

Lake of Thurn . . 334 

Lauterbrunn . . . . . . . 335 

Fall of the Staubach 336 

Glaciers .... ... 338 

Interlaken . . 339 

Brienz ... . . 340 

Falls of the Giesbach 341 

Cantonal Governments ..... 342 

LUCERNE .... .... 344 

Schwytz 345 

Ecroulement of the Rossberg .... 346 

Falls of the Rhine 347 

Zurich 350 

Zug . • .351 

Rigi 352 

Management of Cattle 354 

GENEVA 358 

Ferney 359 

Voltaire 360 

Chamouni 363 

Mer de Glace 365 

Baths of Aix 368 



XIV CONTENTS. 






Page 


LYONS ...... 


. 370 


Hannibal's passage of the Rhone 


. 377 


Revolutionary Horrors 


. 380 


NISMES 


. 383 


MONTPELLIER 


. 384 


Climate 


. 386 


Party Spirit 


. 387 


Conscription Laws 


. v . 388 


Property Tax 


. 390 


Buffon 


. 393 


French Sentiment 


. 394 


The Iron Mask .... 


. 396 


Rousseau . 


. 398 


Beziers 


. 402 






TOULOUSE 


. 405 


Jean Calas 


. 406 


Battle of Toulouse . 


. 408 


French Politics .... 


. . 410 


La Fontaine 


. 416 


Law of Elections . 


. 417 


L'Ecole Royale de Toulouse 


. 420 


French Cookery . 


. 422 


French Cleanliness . , . 


. . 425 


Criminal Trials . 


. 429 


Party Spirit . . . . 


. 436 


Anniversary of the Death of Louis XVI. 


. 436 


Missionaries . . . 


. 439, 446 


Barthelemy's Motion in the Chamber ( 


)f Peers 441 


French Revolution 


. . 442 


Profession of a Novice 


. 445 


Racine 


. 447 


French Drama . 


. . 449 






CONTENTS, XV 

Page 

BOURDEAUX 458 

Talma 461 

French Wines . ...... 464 

Tours . 470 

Scenery of the Loire . . . . . 472 

State of Society in France . . . . .473 
French Law of Inheritance . . . . 475 
Versailles . . k . . . . .477 

•r 

PARIS 479 

Comparison of Paris with London . . . 480 

Catacombs ... . 486 

Luxembourg . . . . . .488 

Chamber of Deputies . . . 489 

Theatre Franc ais 494 

French Opera .498 

Louvre 499 

French Women . . . . , . 50 1 

Gaming Tables . . ... 504 

Gobelin Tapestry .... . .507 

Institution for the Deaf and Dumb . ... 508 

French Character 512 

Return to England by Dieppe .... 513 

Conclusion ..... . . 515 



DIARY OF AN INVALID, 

8fc. 



CHAPTER I. 



Departure from England — Voyage to Lisbon— Lis- 
bon — Cintra — Police of Lisbon — Superstition of the 
People' — Departure from Lisbon. 

September 6th, 1817. I BELIEVE it is Horace 
Walpole who says, — quoting a remark of Gray, — that 
if any man would keep a faithful account of what he 
had seen and heard himself, it must, in whatever hands, 
prove an interesting one. The observation would 
perhaps be strictly true, if nothing were recorded 
but what really appeared at the time to be worth 
remembering ; whereas, I believe, most writers of 
Journals keep their minds upon the stretch, to insert 
as much matter as possible. 

It is with the fear of affording an exception to Mr. 
Gray's observation, that I begin a brief chronicle of 
what I may think, see, and hear, during the pilgrimage 
which I am about to undertake. 

In obedience to medical advice, I have at last de- 
termined to set out upon a wild-goose chase after 

B 



2 DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. 

health, and try, like honest Tristram Shandy, whether 
it be possible to run away from death ; — and, in spite 
of Horace's hint of Mors etfugacempersequititr virum, 
I have this day completed the first stage of my 
journey. 

Who has not experienced the bitter feelings with 
which one turns round on the last height, that com- 
mands the last view of home ? This farewell look was 
longer than usual, for in my state I can scarcely hope 
ever to see it again. But if, as Pope says, 

Life can little more supply, 
Than just to look about us and to die, 
I certainly have no time to lose. 

7th. My flight has been necessarily too rapid to 
allow any time for the gratification of curiosity on this 
side of the water ; and I have passed through Glouces- 
ter, Bath, and Exeter, without seeing more of those 
places than might be viewed from the coach window. 

8th. All I saw of Plymouth was in rowing across 
the Hamoaze, in my way to Tor Point, from whence 
the mail-coach starts. The harbour, full of three- 
deckers, presents a glorious sight ; which an English- 
man cannot look at without feeling that inward glory- 
ing and exultation of soul, which Longinus describes 
as the effect of the sublime. At Tor Point we found 
the mail-coach, and after a tedious drag, accomplished 
sixty -five miles in twelve hours. 

Every thing in this district savours of the sea. The 
inhabitants are a sort of amphibious race. The very 



DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND. 3 

coachman partook of the marine nature; and the slang 
peculiar to his calling was tempered with sea-phrases. 
The coach was to be under-sail at such an hour, and it 
was promoted from the neuter to the feminine gen- 
der, with as much reason perhaps as the ship. At 
Falmouth I found my brother * waiting my arrival, — 
whose anxiety respecting my health, as it had led 
him to urge the trial of a voyage, determined him 
also to accompany me across the sea. 

10th and 11th. Agonies of deliberation upon my 
future plans. — 

Too much deliberation is certainly worse than too 
little. This difficulty of deciding arises perhaps from 
the wish to combine advantages which are incompa- 
tible. A man is too apt to forget, that in this world 
he cannot have every thing. A choice is all that is 
left him. The world was all before me, where to 
choose, — but the difficulty of the choice was increased 
by the arrival of a packet from Lord Viscount S., 
whose obliging kindness, — of which I am happy to 
have an occasion of expressing my grateful sense, — 
furnished me with passports and letters to various 
quarters ; — for this, by enlarging the scope, embarrassed 
the decision of my plans. 

At last I resolved to embark in the Malta packet, 
with the option of determining my bargain with the 
captain, at the first port at which he might touch. 

* The Rev. A. M. 
B a 



4+ VOYAGE TO LISBON. 

12th. Received a hasty summons at seven o'clock 
in the evening. The post from London brought 
orders that the Malta packet should carry out the 
Lisbon as well as the Mediterranean mails. In a 
moment all was, " bustle ! bustle !" On a fine star- 
light evening, the boat-men came to carry us and our 
baggage on board. — Kissed the last stone of granite, 
from which I stepped into the boat, with affection 
and regret. All the pains of parting were renewed 
at this moment ; — but, luckily, at such a moment, one 
has scarcely leisure for the indulgence of any feel- 
ings. In a few minutes we were on board ; — at ten 
o'clock the Princess Charlotte packet slipped from 
her moorings, — and we were fairly off. 

13th. At day-break we found ourselves off the 
Lizard, in a dead calm, with a heavy swell. Here 
began the horrors of sea-sickness ! 

Mind cannot conceive, nor imagination paint the 
afflicting agonies of this state of suffering. I am 
surprised the poets have made no use of it in their 
descriptions of the place of torment; — for it might 
have furnished an excellent hint for improving the 
punishments of their hells. What are the waters 
of Tantalus, or the stone of Sisyphus, when compared 
with the throes of sea-sickness ? 

14th. Still in Hell. — Here the poor devil is con- 
fined in a dark and dismal hole, six feet by three, below 
the level of the water ; with the waves roaring in his 
ears, — raging as it were to get at him, — from which 



VOYAGE TO LISBON. O 

he is only protected by a single plank, and with the 
noises of Pandemonium all round hinu 

The depression and despondency of spirit which 
accompany the sickness, deprive the mind of all its 
energy, and fill up the last trait in the resemblance, by 
taking away even the consolations of hope, — that last 
resource of the miserable, — which comes to all, but 
to the damned and the sea-sick. 

16th. Gleam of comfort ! — Began to be reconciled 
to the motion of the vessel. Though, in the hour of 
sickness, I had vowed, as is usual, that if fortune 
should once set me on shore at Lisbon, nothing should 
ever tempt me on ship-board again, I now began to 
contemplate a voyage to Malta with some degree of 
pleasure, and thought no more of my vow, — than the 
Devil did of his sick resolution to turn Friar. 

17th. A fresh breeze. Our progress has been 
hitherto most favourable. If Neptune himself had 
been shoving us along with his trident, we could not 
have proceeded more directly in our course. It must 
be confessed that a journey by water has some ad- 
vantages over a journey by land. You move along 
without the jolting of ruts, and your progress is not 
impeded by the incidents of eating, drinking, and 
sleeping. But then, nothing can be less interesting 
than the dull uniformity of the sea scene. The view, 
when out of sight of land, is much less vast than I had 
expected. The panorama is limited to a little circle 
of water, seven miles all round its. Within the limits 



S VOYAGE TO LISBON, 

of this circle we move along, day after day, without 
the least variety of prospect or incident. 

We have not yet encountered a single sail ; and I 
had imagined, that in so beaten a track as we are 
pursuing, we should have met ships as thick as stage- 
coaches on the Bath road: 

18th. The wind died away last night. A dead 
calm. — Got up to see the sun rise. — Much has been 
said of the splendour of this sight at sea ; but I con- 
fess I think it inferior to the same scene on shore. 
There is indeed plenty of the — " dread magnificence 
of Heaven," — but it is all over in a moment. The 
sun braves the east, and carries the heavens by a 
coup-de-main; instead of approaching gradually, as 
he does on land, preceded by a troop of rosy mes- 
sengers that prepare you for his arrival. One misses 
the charming variety of the terrestrial scene ; — the 
wood and water : — the hill and dale ; — the " babbling 
brook ;" — the " pomp of groves and garniture of 
fields." At sea, too, all is inanimate ; for the gam- 
bols of the fishes, — if they do gambol at their matins, 
— are out of sight ; and it is the effect of morning on 
living sentient beings that constitutes its great charm; 
At sea, there is — " no song of earliest birds ;" — no 
" warbling woodland;" — no "whistling plough-boy;" 
— nothing, in short, to awaken interest or sympathy. 
There is magnificence and splendour — but it is soli- 
tary splendour. 

Let me rather see— 44 the morn, in russet mantle 



VOYAGE TO LISBON. 7 

clad, walk o'er the dew of yon high Malvern hill." — 
But, alas! — when am I likely to behold this sight again? 

In the evening, I sat on the deck to enjoy the 
moon-light. If the sun-rise be best seen on shore, the 
moon-light has the advantage at sea. At this season 
of repose, the absence of living objects is not felt. A 
lovely night. — The moon, in this latitude, has a sil- 
very brightness which we never see in England. — It 
was a night for romance ; — such as Shakspeare de- 
scribes, when Troilus sighed his soul to absent Cres- 
sid ; — the sea, calm and tranquil as the bosom of in- 
nocence ; — not a breath of air ; — while the reflection 
of the moon and stars, and the gentle rippling of the 
water against the sides of the vessel, completed the 
magic of the scene. 

Sat with my face turned towards England, absorbed 
in the reflections which it is the effect of such a night 
to encourage ; — and indulged in that secret devotion of 
the heart, which, at such seasons particularly, the heart 
loves to pay to the absent objects of its affections. 

19th. A foul wind. A poor little bird, of a species 
unknown in England, alighted on the steersman's 
shoulder, quite spent with fatigue, and allowed itself 
to be taken. Probably making its way from America 
to Portugal. To-day, saw a sail, for the first time. 

20th. The foul wind still continues. Here we are 
within a hundred miles of Lisbon, and yet without ahope 
of getting there, till it shall please the wind to change. 
I remember Lord Bacon says, " 'Tis a strange thing, 



8 VOYAGE TO LISBON. 

that in sea voyages, where there is nothing to be seen 
but sky and sea, men should make diaries." But 
it is a stranger thing to me the Viscount of St. 
Alban's should not perceive, that where there is no- 
thing to be seen, there is little to be done ; and that a 
man must needs scribble in his own defence, — though 
it be but to register the winds, and chronicle the 
clouds. 

In adjusting the balance between land and water 
carriage, I had till to-day been in some doubt ; but 
four-and-twenty hours of beating to windward have 
put the question beyond all doubt ; for though you 
may move along without fatigue, it is terribly fatiguing 
to stand still; — especially with the wind in your 
teeth. So long, therefore, as the wind — " bloweth 
where it listeth," — I believe we must agree that old 
Cato's repentance was well founded. 

Sunday, 21st, To-day we have again a breeze 
in our favour. All the crew are busily employed. 
This demand for hands prevents the celebration of 
Church Service, which was read by the Captain last 
Sunday. 

The deck of a ship, out of sight of land, with no- 
thing above but the — •" brave o'erhanging firma- 
ment," — with its — " majestical roof fretted with 
golden fire," — is better calculated to inspire feelings 
of devotion, than the proudest temple that was ever 
dedicated to the worship of the Supreme Being. 

22d. Once more welcomed the sight of land ! 



VOYAGE TO LISBON. 9 

Indeed, I believe, we did catch a glimpse of Cape 
Finisterre in our passage, but it might have been a 
" camel " or a " whale ;" — this morning, however, 
the rock of Lisbon rose with clouded majesty within 
a few miles of us. 

At eleven o'clock we fired a gun, and hoisted a 
signal for a pilot. A number of boats immediately 
put off to us, and the quickest sailor obtained the job. 
Our first interview with the natives has not pre- 
possessed us in their favour. From an uncouth 
clumsy boat, we have taken in a meagre swarthy 
fellow, with a face as red as Kean's, in Othello. 

He soon gave us a sample of the choleric disposi- 
tion of his nation. The captain seemed to doubt his 
skill, and sending below for his pistols, he intimated 
to the pilot, that if he should get his ship a-ground, 
he would, on the instant, shoot him through the 
head. The fellow was transported with indignation 
at this menace ; and, though alone amongst strangers, 
he drew his knife, and threatened to revenge himself 
for the insult. 

We crept along the shore at a snail's pace, and 
did not anchor within the bar of the harbour, till ten 
at night. 

23d. Beautiful day. Sailed up the Tagus. The 
view is certainly magnificent ; but it has, I think, 
been over-rated by travellers. He who has seen 
London from Greenwich Park, may survey without 
any great astonishment the capital of Portugal. The 



10 



LISBON. 



finest feature is the river, compared with which, the 
Thames sinks into insignificance. Each side has its 
peculiar beauties, and, I doubt whether the left bank, 
with its vineyards and orange groves, does not at- 
tract the eye as much as the right, on which the 
town stands. 

The entire absence of smoke is a striking novelty 
to an English eye, and at first gives an idea that the 
town must be without inhabitants. 

Being tired of the sea, I resolved to stay at Lis- 
bon. Some little difficulties occurred, in conse- 
quence of the want of passports; — but these were 
soon removed ; and after a broiling walk in' search 
of lodgings, we subsided at last in Reeve's hotel, Rua 
do Prior, Buenos Ayres ; — an excellent house, kept 
by an Englishman — full of cleanliness and comfort ; — 
and these are qualities which one appreciates at their 
just value, after a walk through the streets of Lisbon. 

Though travellers may have exaggerated the 
beauties of the view, I have seen no description that 
does justice to the indescribable nastiness of the 
town. I have spoken of the view from the river as 
magnificent, but, I believe, the true epithet would 
have been imposing ; for it is mere deceit and delu- 
sion : the prestige vanishes at once on landing ; and 
the gay and glitteriug city proves to be a painted se- 
pulchre. Filth and beastliness assault you at every 
turn,- — in their most loathsome and disgusting shapes. 
In yielding to first impressions, one is generally led 



LISBON, 



11 



to exaggerate ; but the abominations of Lisbon are 
incapable of exaggeration. 

24th and 25th. Jaunted about Lisbon by land 
and water carriage. To walk about the streets is 
scarcely possible for an invalid. A clumsy sort of 
carriage on two wheels, driven by a postilion, with 
a pair of mules, is to be hired by the day, or the 
half day ; — but not at a cheaper rate than one might 
hire a coach in London. A good idea of these car- 
riages will be formed from the prints in the old edi- 
tions of Gil Bias, since whose time, no improvement 
seems to have taken place in vehicular architecture. 

I have already experienced the truth of Mr. Bowd- 
ler's remark, — " that in Lisbon, under a scorching 
sun, you are constantly exposed to a cold wind." 
The Portuguese guard against this by a large great 
coat which is worn loose like a mantle, with hanging 
sinecure sleeves, and which they wrap round them, 
when in turning a corner they encounter the wind. 
The use of this sweltering surtout, in some shape or 
other, is universal, even in the hottest weather ; — 
but the remedy is, perhaps, worse than the disease. 

There is something in the appearance of Lisbon 
that seems to portend an earthquake ; and, instead of 
wondering that it was once visited by such a calamity, 
I am rather disposed to consider its daily preservation 
as a standing miracle. Repeated shocks have been 
felt of late years ; and to an earthquake it may look, 
as its natural death. From the vestiges which the 



12 LISBON. 

indolence of the people has allowed to remain, one 
might fancy the last convulsion had taken place but a 
few months. Many ruins are now standing just as 
the earthquake left them. — Gorgeous Palaces, — and 
— Solemn Temples, — now totter in crumbling ruins, 
an awful monument of the fatal wreck. There are 
some streets, built since the earthquake, with trot- 
toirs on each side, which make a handsome appear- 
ance; and, with any industry on the part of the 
people, the whole town might be made one of the 
most cleanly in Europe ; — the undulating nature of 
the ground being so well calculated for carrying away 
all impurities. 

At present, the only scavengers are the dogs, 
which roam about the streets in hordes, without 
homes or masters, seeking what they may devour. 
And indeed, where all sorts of filth and offal are 
thrown into the street, till they shall be carried by 
the next shower into the Tagus, the dogs are not 
without their use ; and the legislature has not been 
wholly inattentive to their accommodation. There is 
an old law obliging certain trades to keep a vessel of 
water at the doors of their houses for the refresh- 
ment of these freebooters. Canine madness is, I am 
told, almost unknown here, and it is well that it is 
so. Upon the whole, the dogs behave very well, — 
except to one another ; but it is up-hill work to a 
new settler, for he must fight his way. They are 
strict preservers ;— if any dog is caught out of the 



JOURNEY TGCINTRA. 13 

limits of his own manor, he is proceeded against as a 
wilful trespasser, without any notice. 

26th. Rose at day-break, and set out in a ca- 
briolet with a stout pair of mules for Cintra. The 
scarcity of gold, and the depreciation of their vile 
paper money, exposed me to the inconvenience of 
carrying about a travelling treasury of silver crusa- 
dos in a green baize bag, heavy with the weight of 
150,000 rees. How rich this sounds ! — but alas, the 
high-sounding sesterces of the Romans are nothing 
to the paltry pomposity of Portuguese arithmetic,— 
for the ree is little more than the fourth of a far- 
thing. 

The road to Cintra carried me near to the great 
aqueduct of Alcantara, — the work of Manuel de 
Maya, in 1738, — which stretches across a wide and 
deep valley, by a range of thirty -five arches. The 
centre one of these is said to be the highest arch in 
the world, and the view from the ground looking up- 
wards at it, is beyond measure grand and imposing. 
The width is 107 French feet, and the height 230. 
I paced the whole range of the aqueduct, across 
which there is a fine stone walk of about three 
quarters of a mile, protected by a parapet. This 
vast work, while it remains a monument of the indus- 
try of the Portuguese, would lead one to believe that 
they were, — as the ancients also are supposed to have 
been, — ignorant of the first principles of hydraulics, 
which have every where else superseded the necessity 



14 JOURNEY TO CINTRA. 

of such stupendous structures. Still, in point of 
architectural grandeur and magnificence, it is a just 
source of national pride ; and in a country, where 
so few great undertakings, unconnected with religion, 
are brought to perfection, it stands like the Giant 
Gulliver amongst the pigmies of Lilliput. Apropos 
of giants ; — whole armies of windmills, are seen here 
on every side ; — and it is well observed by Semple, 
that Don Quixote's mistake, which is too absurd if 
judged by English windmills, is rendered probable by 
the sight of these, which look like good sturdy giants 
of ten feet high. 

Great attention seems every where paid to the 
preservation of water in this country. Fountains of 
marble, of neat and often elegant architecture, with 
large troughs, are constructed on the road-side, for 
the use of the traveller and his beasts. My postilion, 
however, having accomplished one half of his jour- 
ney, seemed to think that his mules, or himself, or 
both, for they fared alike, required something bet- 
ter than water ; so he stopped at the half-way house, 
with " Vinho do Porto. . Carcavelos. Colares, 
fyc. &c." inscribed on its front, and there fed himself 
and his beasts with bread soaked in wine. By virtue 
of this restorative, we contrived to reach Cintra ; — 
having consumed nearly five hours in a stage of not 
more than sixteen English miles ; — though, it must be 
confessed, that the road was so rough, that greater 
speed might have been disagreeable. 



CINTRA. 15 

I can add little to the warm tints of description 
that have been so justly lavished upon Cintra ; the 
beauties of which are heightened by the contrast of 
the barren and uninteresting country all around it. I 
should compare it with Malvern ; — but to the heights 
of Malvern must be added some hundred feet of per- 
pendicular rock. The summits are composed of 
huge masses of stone, which seem to have been 
thrown up in some great convulsion of nature. On 
one of the peaks are the ruins of an old Moorish 
castle, the bath of which still remains in excellent 
preservation, and shews how attentive to cleanliness 
these Moors were. On the highest point of the 
ridge is the convent of Penlia, the existence of 
which, on such a spot, is so wonderful, that I am sur- 
prised the monks have not attributed it to the same 
kind of assistance which brought our Lady's Chapel 
to Loretto. It commands a most extensive pro- 
spect ; — but however superior Cintra may be to Mal- 
vern in itself, the view from it is much less pleasing. 
Instead of the fertile valleys of Worcestershire, the 
eye has nothing to repose on, but a dreary and bar- 
ren waste. The village of Cintra stands half-way 
up, — nestled as it were in the bosom of the hill, — 
amidst groves of pine and cork, orange and lemon 
trees, with a profusion of geraniums and evergreens 
of all kinds. This is the very region of romance. 
The sun is less hot, and the wind is less cold, than at 
Lisbon. The mildness of the evening is charming, 



le 



C1NTRA. 



and there is neither damp nor chill to prevent your 
indulging in all the luxuries of a moonlight walk. 

27th and 28th. Fell in with Mr. Ward, Charge 
d' Affaires, an old Cambridge acquaintance. Excur- 
sion to Penha. The convent, high as it is, was not 
out of the reach of French rapacity. They robbed 
the church and the altar of every thing worth taking. 
All they spared was a plated candlestick, and the 
ornaments of the Virgin ; — and here I suspect it was 
not their piety that restrained them, — for the Virgin's 
habiliments have not the appearance of being very 
costly. She wears a flaxen powdered wig, and her 
diamond ornaments savour strongly of Birmingham 
jewellery. 

Upon my return to my hotel, I found two old 
Etonians waiting for me, who, having heard from 
Mr. Ward of the arrival of an old schoolfellow at 
Cintra, were kind enough to come and claim ac- 
quaintance with me. 

Dined, and passed a pleasant evening with one of 
them ; — Colonel Ross, of the Portuguese service. 
Nearly twenty years had elapsed since he left school, 
but we could just make out that we had been con- 
temporaries. Without acquaintanceship, however, 
there is a sort of freemasonry among Etonians, which, 
I have ever found, disposes them to be friendly to 
one another, whenever they may happen to meet ; : — 
and it is, indeed, a pleasant thing, to meet, wherever 
you go, with some face that you are acquainted with, 



CINTRA. 17 

without the ceremony of introduction, from the com- 
mon relationship of school-fellow. 

29th, 30th, and 3 1st. Still at Cintra. My land- 
lady, Mrs. Dacey, an old Irish woman, above eighty 
years old, is now quite blind; but she remembers 
perfectly the great earthquake, and describes the 
horrors of that awful event. Her house is generally 
full of holiday-folks from Lisbon ; especially from 
Saturday till Monday. Cintra is to Lisbon, what 
Richmond is to London ; and the Lisbon cockneys 
are glad to escape from their compting-houses for a 
few hours of fresh air. The accommodations of her 
house are good, and the table d'h6te excellent. The 
charge for board and lodging is 2,000 rees per day ; 
—-about eleven shillings English. This does not 
include wine, so that Cintra is not cheaper than 
Cheltenham. 

A wolf sometimes makes its appearance here ; — 
and one has lately been very mischievous. 

Walked over the Royal Palace. They shew the 
room where Sebastian held his last council, before 
he set out on that fatal expedition, from which he has 
not yet returned ; but the Portuguese have not aban- 
doned all hopes of seeing him again, and the lower 
orders expect him with about as much confidence, as 
the Jews expect their Messiah. Hard by is the 
palace of the Marquis Marialva, famous for the in- 
famous convention. The ink, which was spilt on this 
memorable occasion, is still visible on the floor, — - 



18 LISBON. 

scattered, as it is said, by Junot, in an ebullition 
of spleen, when he put his name to the instrument ; 
— but surely he had no cause for vexation. 

Returned in the evening to Lisbon. Cattle much 
used here for draught. Met abundance of oxwains. 
— The wheels of a singular construction ;— circular 
pieces of board, solid and entire, though very narrow. 
The creaking of these is intolerable, and the noise as 
disagreeable as the sharpening of a saw. 

Thursday, 1st October. Made a bargain with my 
landlord, to board and lodge me for 25 crusados a 
week, — about 3/. 10s. English. For this I have 
three rooms, and two meals per day, but no wine. 
The cheapest thing in Lisbon is the fruit. Grapes 
are bought at three half-pence a pbund, quinces at 
a shilling a hundred, and other things in proportion ; 
but the flavour of the fruit in general is not equal to 
our own. Because nature has done so much, these 
lazy rascals seem determined to do nothing. Peaches, 
nectarines, and apricots are left to take, their chance, 
without pruning or training. Grapes are treated 
with more care, and melons are very abundant. One 
sees them piled up in heaps in the streets, and sold 
out retail by the slice. 

Walked in the gardens of the Convent dos Ne- 
cessidades, of great extent, and some beauty. At 
least they afford shade and retirement, and, — what 
is extraordinary in Lisbon,— you are admitted for 
nothing. 



LISBON. 19 

Made inquiries in vain for a vessel bound to Italy. 
To contemplate a residence here for the winter, would 
be enough to make a healthy man sick; and the 
desagremens of the place strike, with exaggerated 
impression, on the irritable nerves of an invalid. 
There is not a room in the hotel where I am, that has 
a fire-place in it, except the kitchen. A grate in- 
deed is a rarity in Lisbon. In winter this incon- 
venience must be severely felt : it is obviated as well 
as it can be, by a brazier of coal placed in the middle 
of the room. — So much for comfort ; — then the dis- 
position of the people towards us, offers no induce- 
ment to stay. There is no doubt of the fact, that 
neither the generosity and good faith of the British, 
nor the blood profusely shed in defence of their 
country, have endeared us to our Portuguese allies. 
They dislike us mortally. How is this to be ex- 
plained? Is it that malicious sentiment of envy, 
which seems to have overspread the whole Continent, 
at the prodigious elevation to which England has 
arisen ; or is it the repulsive unaccommodating man- 
ners which an Englishman is too apt to carry with 
him into all countries, which make even a benefit 
from him, less binding than the winning urbanity by 
which the French contrive to render confiscation 
and robbery palatable ? 

Talked with a Spaniard, — who took me for an Ame- 
rican, — of the English and the French. He summed 

up what he had to say on their respective merits, 

c 2 



20 LISBON. 

in the following sentence of broken English, — " I 
should like to hang tie Englishman in de bowels of 
de Frenchman." This sentiment will, I believe, 
express pretty accurately the feeling entertained 
towards us by a large portion of his countrymen. 

The Portuguese are full of discontent, and their 
long intimacy with us has spread far and wide 
amongst them the lights of information. Indeed, it 
is no wonder that they should be discontented, aban- 
doned as they are by their sovereign, who has con- 
verted the mother country into a province, from 
which men and money are drawn for the support of 
his transatlantic dominions ; whilst the command 
of their national army, and the principal situations 
of power and profit, are in the hands of foreigners. 
The greatest unwillingness now prevails among the 
soldiery to embark for America. I have seen some 
hundred deserters chained together, and marched 
down to the bank of the river. 

October 2d. Drank tea with Mr. M , and 

from thence went to see the funeral procession of 
one of the Members of the Regency, who was un- 
derstood to be chief of the anti-British party ; but 
he has probably left his mantle behind. — Saw nothing. 
— Heard discharges of artillery in abundance, and 
this was all. — Nothing can be more dreary than the 
streets of Lisbon at night, No part of the town is 
regularly lighted. The Virgin and the Saints en- 
gross the few lamps, which here and there give a 



LISBON — POLICE. 2l 

gleam of light. Amongst dirt, dogs, and darkness, 
it is easy to imagine how it fares with the stranger 
groping his way through the streets at night. 

The- police of Lisbon, as far as it affects the 
suppression of disturbances in the streets, and the 
maintenance of public decency, is extremely good. 
One is struck with the entire absence of all external 
symptoms of the vices and immoralities that might be 
expected to prevail in a metropolis, and sea-port, in 
this southern latitude. These regulations, though 
they may not be sufficient to counteract the vicious 
propensities of human nature, must be of some use ; 
and I think we should do well to imitate them in our 
own metropolis ; for — " how oft the sight of means 
to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done !" Thus far the 
police is good; but for the prevention of crimes, or 
for inquiry into the perpetrators of them, it is of little 
service. The lower orders are in the habit of carrying 
a large clasp knife, with the open blade concealed 
under the right sleeve, and, as it may be supposed, 
assassinations are by no means uncommon. 

The Inquisition is still an object of mysterious 
dread. A young man of considerable fortune dis- 
appeared about a year ago, and it was supposed for 
some time that he was murdered. A large reward 
was offered for the discovery of his body, but the 
river was dragged, and every well and hole in the 
town explored without success. It is the opinion of 
many, that he is now immured in the prisons of the 



21 LISBON- -SUPERSTITION. 

Inquisition. By-the-bye, I have not yet mentioned 
the priests, and for aught I know, they are more 
numerous than the dogs. Doghood and Priesthood 
are certainly the most thriving trades in Lisbon. It 
is an humiliating spectacle, to see the abject super- 
stition in which the people are sunk and brutified. 
As the best things, by being corrupted, become the 
worst ; so here, Christianity exhibits a system of 
idolatry, much more revolting than the old Pagan 
worship. One cannot help feeling some regard for 
the ancient mythology, which is as amusing as Mother 
Bunch, illustrated and adorned too as it was by such 
divine statues. Besides, — the heathens had not the 
means of knowing better ; — but who that has read 
the New Testament, can tolerate the contemptible 
mummeries, which are here practised under the name 
of religion ? The religion of the heathens was as 
superior to this, as the statues of Phidias excel in 
beauty the tawdry and disgusting images, to which 
these poor creatures bow down with such humble 
prostrations. 

In the mean time, however, the priests thrive and 
fatten. I will not say, with Semple, that they are 
the only fat people in Portugal, but I will vouch for 
their universal embonpoint. 

This to be sure is only the outward and visible 
sign ; — but it tends to give credibility to the tales in 
vogue, of the sloth and good cheer, the licentious 
feasting* and debaucheries, which take place in the 



LISBON. 23 

convents, or rather the castles of indolence, in which 
these portly monks are lodged. The French, who 
hated a monk and the smell of a monk, as much as 
Walter Shandy, that is, — " worse than all the devils 
of hell ;" — while they bayonetted the dogs without 
mercy, made the monks lay aside the crucifix, to 
brandish the besom, and fairly set them to sweep the 
streets ; but the French are gone, — and the monks 
and the dogs have resumed their usual occupations. 

The nunneries enjoy a better reputation, and are 
said to be filled with sincerely pious women, who have 
been led, from perhaps a mistaken sense of religion, 
to bury themselves in the unprofitable seclusion of a 
convent. This is, however, a delicate question, and 
I leave it in the uncertainty, in which it has been left 
by the sage in Rasselas. 

3d, 4th, and 5th. Passed over to the left bank of 
the river, which, in the broadest part, is about four 
miles across. The view from the opposite side is 
very beautiful ; and from the absence of smoke, the 
whole of the town in all its details is distinctly visible. 
The indolence of the people is most striking ; — you 
can scarcely get a shopkeeper to give himself the 
trouble to serve you. It pervades all classes : — arts, 
science, literature, — every thing languishes at Lisbon. 

The Portuguese are worthy of better things ; but 
they are bowed down by a despotic government, and 
hood-winked by a besotted superstition. The priests 
seem to fear that the growing spirit of inquiry will 



21 LISBON. 

destroy the foundations of their power : and therefore 
they do all they can to keep the people in a state of 
ignorance, in which they are supported by the Inqui- 
sition, which prohibits the circulation of all writings, 
tending to excite religious investigation. 

The government, on the other hand, takes equal 
care, that no political disquisitions shall be introduced, 
to disturb the quiet slavery, to which the people seem 
at present constrained to submit. The suppression of 
the late conspiracy will contribute to strengthen the 
hands of government ; and the indolence of the people 
may help to continue the present state of things some 
time longer ; — but a change must take place sooner 
or later. 

6th. Every thing warns me to depart. I have to- 
day been attending as pall-bearer, at the funeral of 
one of my fellow-passengers from England. He was 
in the last stage of a decline, and might as well have 
been suffered to lay his bones in his own country. 
The funeral of a young countryman in a foreign land, 
must always be an affecting ceremony ; and my own 
situation perhaps, — for philosophers assure us that 
self is the foundation of sympathy — made it still more 
impressive. It may be my turn next : — mea res agitur 
paries cum proximus ardet. — He lodged next door. 

The English burying- ground is pleasantly situated, 
and well shaded with fine cypresses. I looked in vain 
for the grave of Fielding. They do indeed pretend 
to point out the spot ; but to the reproach of the 



LISBON. £5 

English factory be it said, there is no stone to indicate 
where his remains lie. 

It does really concern the honour of the nation, 
that some monument should be erected to his me- 
mory ; and it is pity that Mr. Canning, during his 
embassy to Lisbon, was not solicited to prepare a 
suitable inscription ; whose truly classical pen would 
have done full justice to the subject. 

After the ceremony, went to the church of St. 
Roque, which contains some fine specimens of mosaic. 
The altar is surrounded by a railing of verd antique, 
and displays a profusion of porphyry, lapis lazuli, 
amethyst, §~c. &c. 

The friars would have you believe, they contrived 
to persuade the French, that the immense candlesticks, 
which are really silver gilt, were made of brass. 

7th to 12th. Still in Lisbon; — though daily be- 
coming more impatient to leave it. Amongst the 
minor plagues of the place, I ought to mention the 
flies. The rooms are full of them. They attack you 
in countless myriads, and their annoyance is intole- 
rable. With what different feelings would one read 
the story of Domitian, in England and at Lisbon! — 
There I sympathized with the flies, — here with Do- 
mitian; — whose hostility seems very justifiable, and 
whose expertness is the daily subject of my emulation. 

13th. Visited the botanical gardens, where there 
is a museum, containing a good collection of curi- 
osities in all the departments of nature. At the en- 



26 DEPARTURE FROM LISBON. 

trance of the garden, are placed two military statues 
of rude and uncouth workmanship. These were dug 
up some years ago at Montalegre, and are supposed 
to belong to a period anterior to the Carthaginian 
conquest of Spain. They afford a curious and inter- 
esting specimen of the first essays of a barbarous 
people, in the art of sculpture, to perpetuate the me- 
mory of their chiefs. 

Went to mass, where I liked nothing but the music. 
There certainly seems to be one convenience in the 
Catholic worship ; — for those who attend might, 
with Friar John in Rabelais, compare their prayers 
to stirrup leathers, — which are made short or long at 
pleasure. 

Took leave of my Brother ; — whose kindness has 
been unremitting ;— and who this evening went on 
board the packet, upon his return to England. 

14th. Found a ship bound to Leghorn ; — the 
Fanny ; — a small trading vessel, of about 140 tons 
burthen. The captain asked me twenty guineas for 
my passage, and would fain have persuaded me that 
his demand was just. I knew it to be too much by 
half, and when he saw me resolved not to give more 
than ten, he acceded to my terms with scarcely a 
decent demur. 

I am to find my own sea stock and bedding. 

15th and 16th. Busily employed in preparations for 
my voyage. Mr. Ward kindly sent me his boat to 
make use of in conveying my various stores on board. 



DEPARTURE FROM LISBON. 



27 



Took a farewell stroll through Lisbon. Of the 
Portuguese women I have said nothing, though I have 
seen some fine specimens of face and figure. It is 
in expression of countenance and gracefulness of car- 
riage that their charm consists, for to complexional 
beauty they have no claims. The hair is profusely 
ornamented with gold combs, artificial flowers, or 
precious stones of various colours. The women in 
walking the streets never wear a hat or bonnet, but 
cover the head with a white handkerchief. And, let 
the weather be ever so hot, an immense cloak, or 
rather great coat, often of red cloth, is thrown over 
their shoulders. 

As I was returning from my stroll, I sat down to 
rest on the steps of a statue ; but was hurried away 
by observing a man ridding himself of a numerous 
retinue of vermin on the other side of the pedestal, 
and cracking them by dozens on the steps. 

And so much for the Lusitanian, or, — as it might 
with more propriety be called, — the Lousitanian Me- 
tropolis. I shall quit it without one feeling of regret. 
In fact, to remain in it is impossible : — I am fairly 
stunk out. 



2S 



CHAPTER II. 

Voyage to Leghorn — Quarantine — Pisa — Florence— 
The Gallery — Venus de Medicis—Canova's Venus 
— Countess of Albany — Pitti Collection of Paintings 
— Raphael — Vandyke — Salvator Rosa — Gabinetto 
Fisico — Santa Croce. 

Friday, 17th. iVI Y fat landlord, Mr. Reeves, whom 
I strongly recommend to all visitors to Lisbon, en- 
tered my room before day-break, to announce that 
the Fanny was making preparations for weighing 
anchor. Went on board as the sim rose. We weighed 
anchor immediately ; and with a fine breeze from the 
northward, and the tide in our favour, glided rapidly 
down the Tagus. 

18th and 19th. Sick as a dog ! 

20. Mounted the deck with a firm step. — Passed 
over the scene of the battle of Trafalgar. — To-mor- 
row is the anniversary of the death of Nelson. — Sung 
Rule Britannia, with enthusiasm ; as the most ap- 
propriate requiem to the memory of the immortal 
Admiral. 

About dinner-time we arrived at the mouth of the 
Strait, or, as the sailors call it, — the Gut of Gibral- 
tar. — The view grand and striking. — The African 
side much more bold and lofty than the European. — 



VOYAGE TO LEGHORN. 29 

Attempted to sketch the rock of Gibraltar, which is 
less remarkable for its height, than for its singularly 
detached situation. It is almost an island, and in- 
deed, I believe, quite so, in rough weather. 

We passed up the Strait with a fresh breeze ; and 
I do not remember to have ever seen a more magni- 
ficent prospect. As we sailed onwards, the view 
was enlivened by constant variety ; — the rock of Gi- 
braltar changing its appearance as we shifted our 
ground, and caught it in different points of view. 

21st. To-day at noon, saw Cape de Gata. Flew 
onwards on the pinions of the finest breeze imaginable. 
I find I have committed a great mistake in the laying 
in of my sea-stock. Wishing to try the effect of an 
abstemious diet, I resolved to compel an adherence 
to it, and therefore contented myself with a goat to 
furnish me with milk, confining the remainder of my 
stores to biscuit, rice, potatoes, cocoa, and arrow- 
root. I mention this to warn any invalid who may 
chance to read my Journal, from following my exam- 
ple. For, milk will be found of little use, unless a 
man have the stomach of a sailor ; and the want of 
something in the shape of broth or soup will be se- 
verely felt. Though my poor Nanny is a most en- 
tertaining companion on deck, she is of no further 
use. Her society, however, is worth a good deal. 
She is an old sailor, and so accustomed to the sea, 
that the voyage has not at all diminished her supply 
of milk. 



30 VOYAGE TO LEGHORN. 

My only other fellow passenger is a Genoese — the 
supercargo of the vessel, — between whom and the 
Captain I am obliged to act as interpreter. 

22d. Out of sight of land. The last point we 
saw was Cape Palos. The southern coast of Spain 
presents an inaccessible barrier of mountains covered 
with snow. 

Our voyage had hitherto been most prosperous ; — 
but soon after I retired to bed, a sudden squall came 
on, and the wind shifted round to the eastward. The 
squall was accompanied with thunder, lightning, rain, 
and the usual symptoms of a storm. Whilst all was 
confusion on the deck, the cabin-window immediately 
behind my birth was driven in ; — and we shipped a 
sea, that fairly washed me out of bed. The super- 
cargo joined me in roaring out lustily for help ; — for, 
to say the truth, I believe we both thought that we 
were goingto the bottom. The fact was, that, — in con- 
quence of the very favourable weather, — we had neg- 
lected to put up the dead lights ; and the squall came 
on so suddenly, that before the sails could be taken 
in, the ship was driven backwards against the heavy 
sea, which had been rolling us along since we en- 
tered the Mediterranean. 

It was some time before any one could be spared 
from the deck to attend to the state of affairs below ; 
and if, in the mean time, we had shipped another sea, 
the consequence would have been more serious. 

As it was, my situation was sufficiently deplorable ; 



VOYAGE TO LEGHORN. 31 

and my only choice was between salt-water in the 
cabin, or rain-water on deck. — Passed the remainder 
of the night like a half-drowned rat. — The squall soon 
subsided ; and the wind returned to its old quarter in 
our favour. 

23rd. Breeze still steady. Fine weather, but cold. 
The sea of a fine dark indigo. Quantities of fish 
sporting about the vessel. A strange sail to the south- 
ward of a suspicious appearance, which seemed to 
savour of Algiers. 

24th. I begin to suspect, that all I shall gain by 
my voyage will be the conviction, that a man who 
travels so far from Jhome, in pursuit of health, travels 
on a fool's errand. The crosses he must meet on his 
road will do him more injury, than he can hope to 
compensate by any change of climate. I am told 
that a sea- voyage, to be of any benefit to an invalid, 
should be made in a frigate, or other vessel of equal 
size ; but of this I doubt ; — for all comfort is so en- 
tirely out of the question at sea, that I think the dif- 
ference of as little importance, as the choice of a 
silken or hempen rope would be to a man at the 
gallows. I am sure, however, that the fatigue and 
discomfort of such a little cock-boat as this, is much 
the same thing, as if one were to be tossed in a 
blanket during one half of the day, and thrown into a 
pigsty for the remainder. 

I nunc, et ventis animam committe dolato 
Confisus ligno, digitis a morte remotus 
Quatuor, aut septem — si sit latissima teda, 



32 VOYAGE TO LEGHORN. 

26th. Saw land again at a distance on the west- 
ern coast of Corsica. 

27th. The wind, which had hitherto been blow- 
ing steadily in our favour, now slackened. At noon 
we were becalmed with a very heavy swell. A storm 
came suddenly on. While we were standing on the 
deck, the ship received a violent blow on the stern, 
which threw the captain, the supercargo, and myself, 
on our faces. It is such an accident as this, accord- 
ing to the captain, that, in rougher weather, some- 
times sends a ship in a moment to the bottom. The 
boat was knocked away, and we heard another crash 
in the cabin. It was a repetition of the affair of 
Wednesday, with this difference, that on this occa- 
sion, — it was on the supercargo's side. As I saw his 
bed brought up to be dried, I never felt so strongly 
Rochefoucault's meaning, in his memorable maxim 
about our neighbours' misfortunes. This storm ended 
as the last, and the wind returned to its old quarter 
in our rear with greater violence than before ; and we 
made all sail for Leghorn. 

Tuesday 28th. Italiam ! Italiam! At eight o'clock 
this morning we were off the little island of Gorgona, 
within eighteen miles of Leghorn ; with Elba on our 
right, and the smiling land of Italy spread out before 
us. Achates himself could not have been more re- 
joiced than I was at this sight ; — and it is not the 
" humilem Italiam ," which iEneas describes, but 
the high ground behind Leghorn, with the bold out- 
line of the Apennines in the back-ground. 



LEGHORN ROADS — QUARANTINE. 88 

If the wind had continued three hours longer, we 
should have breakfasted at Leghorn. But, within 
sight of port, the wind has chopped about, and, for 
the first time since we left Lisbon, we have begun to 
tack. The view is, however, full of interest, and I 
have no right to complain of the wind, considering 
what a gallopping voyage we have made. 

29th. After tacking against a foul wind through- 
out the whole of last night, we entered the road of 
Leghorn at nine o'clock this morning, having com- 
pleted the passage from Lisbon in twelve days. 

A boat from the Health-office hailed us immedi- 
ately, and we were ordered to perform a quarantine 
of ten days, j 

Thus it seems, that, before we enjoy the delights of 
an Italian Paradise, we are to be subjected to a pur- 
gatory of purification ; such as Virgil describes : 

Alice panduntur inanes 
Suspenses ad ventos : 
Donee longa dies perfecto temporis orbe 
Concretam exemit labem, purumque reliquit. 

Our passage has been so short, that these ten days 
might well be added to the account, without exciting 
much impatience — but it is always difficult to submit 
quietly to unnecessary restraint. 

30th. Weighed anchor, and were permitted to go 
within the mole into the harbour. The last ten days 
of all quarantines are performed here ; and as we had 
a clean bill of health, and there was, in fact, no real 

D 



SI QUARANTINE. 

ground for putting us under quarantine at all, we pro- 
ceeded at once to this destination. Two officers of 
the Health- office were put on board to prevent all 
intercourse with us. As soon as we were safely- 
moored within the harbour, a boat full of musicians 
made its appearance under the cabin-window, and 
we were serenaded with " Rule Britannia," and 
" God save the King." It is the custom to celebrate 
in this manner the arrival of every new comer, and 
to welcome him with the national airs of the country 
to which he belongs. A few hours afterwards, an 
American came to an anchor very near us, and we 
had then to listen to Yankee Doodle's March, with 
some other airs not at all tuneable to an English ear. 
This serenading is probably the remains of an old 
custom, when a voyage was considered an adventure 
of great danger, and the return of a ship an event 
worthy of extraordinary celebration. 

Boats are constantly plying with supplies of all 
sorts of provisions from the shore ; — and it is per- 
haps worth while to fast for ten days, in order to 
enjoy in perfection the true relish of beef. 

Saturday, 1st Nov. to 7th. The days of quaran- 
tine pass heavily along. The value of liberty can 
only be known by those who have been in confine- 
ment ; for — " What we have we prize not to the 
worth, while we enjoy it." 

The quarantine laws, like most others, though ori- 
ginally intended for the general good, come at last to 



QUARANTINE. 35 

be perverted to private purposes. This is the history 
of all human institutions. Our quarantine has been 
manifestly a mere matter of form. Whenever there 
is any apprehension of infection, the suspected ship 
is obliged to remain in the open roads. But here we 
are with a multitude of vessels of all nations packed 
together, — higgledy-piggledy, — as close as sheep in a 
pen ; — a rare precaution against infection. The true 
cause of these strict regulations, I believe, is the 
emolument derived from them by the Health-office. 
A number of men are thus kept in employment at the 
expense of those whom they are appointed to guard ; 
— for our Captain is obliged to pay his jailers. In 
the mean time, we poor travellers suffer. These 
officers prevent all communication between the na- 
tives and us, and between the inhabitants of one ship 
and another, though we absolutely touch our next- 
door neighbour. 

As a proof of the rigorous observance of these re- 
gulations ; — a fowl from our ship flew into the rigging 
of that alongside us ; and it was determined, — after 
a grave debate, — that the fowl must remain where it 
was, till the quarantine of our neighbour had expired. 

Our captain, who was tolerable as long as we 
were at sea, now, in a state of idleness, proves a most 
unmanageable brute. 

Letter from my old friend C, who promised to 
meet me at Pisa. 

Saturday, 8th. At last came the day of our de- 

D 2 






86 LEGHORN— PISA. 

liverance. Johnson says, that no man ever does any 
thing for the last time, without some feeling of regret. 
The last day of quarantine might form an exception 
to this observation. Early this morning the boat of 
the Health-office came alongside : — the crew were 
mustered on the deck ; — and the examination was 
begun and concluded in a moment. Thus ended the 
farce of quarantine. I lost no time in getting myself 
and my baggage on shore ; and after a short ramble 
through the streets of Leghorn, hired a cabriolet to 
carry me to Pisa. 

Perhaps, the most interesting sight in Leghorn is 
the English burying-ground. Smollett was buried 
here, affording in his death, as in his writings, a 
parallel to Fielding; — both being destined to find 
their last home in a foreign land. 

Excellent road from Leghorn to Pisa, through the 
fertile plain of the Arno. At the gate of Pisa, I first 
encountered the restraints of continental travelling, in 
the examination of my passport and baggage. 

Found my friend C. at the " Tre Donzelle." 
Passed a long evening in chatting over the tales of 
former times. — Disgusted at the mode of salute in 
use amongst Italians. They kiss each other in 
the street — first, on one cheek, then on the other, — 
and, lastly, — lip to lip. 

Pisa has a gloomy and deserted appearance, as if it 
had once seen better days. The inn, — cold and com- 
fortless, — with brick floors, and without carpets. 



CATHEDRAL LEANING TOWER. 37 

The cathedral, — a venerable pile of party-coloured 
marble. The first impression of this style of building 
is unfavourable ; but this may be the mere effect of 
novelty. One seldom likes what one is not accus- 
tomed to. 

The leaning tower at first sight is quite terrific, 
and exceeds expectation. There is, I believe, no 
doubt of the real history of this tower. The founda- 
tion-ground gave way during the progress of the 
building, and the architect completed his work in 
the direction thus accidentally given to it. Accord- 
ingly, we find in the construction of the upper part, 
that the weight is disposed in a way to support the 
equilibrium. 

Upon the whole, it is a very elegant structure ; and 
the general effect is so pleasing, that, — like Alexan- 
der's wry neck, — it might well bring leaning into 
fashion amongst all the towers in Christendom. 

9th. Finding I could not establish myself imme- 
diately en pension, I resolved to accept C.'s offer of 
a seat in his carriage to Florence. 

Whenever the Grand Duke of Tuscany moves 
about his dominions, all the post-horses on his route 
are put under taboo for his exclusive use. 

Unluckily for us, he was to-day on his road from 
Pisa to Florence. It was necessary, therefore, to 
hire a Vetturino, who undertakes to transport your 
carriage, in a certain time, for a certain sum. 

Left Pisa at noon. Soon after our departure the 



38 LEAVE PISA FOR FLORENCE. 

rain came down in torrents. The horses knocked 
up ; and the vetturino was half- drowned. The post- 
master refused to let us have horses ; — and as he had 
no beds to offer us, — there was every prospect of our 
passing the night in the carriage. S. who was with 
us, smoked his pipe ; — I swore in English; — and C. 
out- swore, out-argued, and out-joked the post-master 
and all his crew in their native tongue. At last, by 
dint of his arguments and humour, for which the Ita- 
lians have a keen relish, the difficulties were got 
over ; — though we did not reach Florence till after 
midnight. 

10th to 20th. Travellers generally exaggerate 
most outrageously ; — but they have hardly done jus- 
tice to Florence. It may well be called — Fair Flo- 
rence. — The Arno runs through it with a turbid, but 
rapid, and therefore cheerful, stream, forming as it 
were the middle of the principal street. Between the 
lines of houses and the river is a broad quay, serving 
for carriages and foot-passengers. Four bridges at 
short distances connect the two sides of the street, 
and add to its beauty. The absence of smoke, and 
the clearness of the atmosphere, enable you to see the 
surrounding country distinctly, from all parts of the 
town. 

The views up and down the river are beautiful ; and 
the immediate environs are ornamented with undula- 
ting shrubberies and villas without number. 

The prospect from these environs is rich beyond 



FLORENCE SCHNEIDERF's HOTEL. 39 

description. Florence is laid out at your feet, — and 
the Arno winds through a golden and fertile plain, till 
the scene is closed by the bold and rugged range of 
the Apennines. Such is the first view of Florence ; 
— and within its walls is all that can conduce to 
gratify the senses, or delight the imagination. The 
wonders of ancient and modern art are all around 
you, and furnish an inexhaustible field of occupation 
and amusement. 

Schneiderf s hotel is a magnificent establishment ; 
and though Florence may be better calculated for 
a summer residence, yet it is well provided with 
winter comforts ; — and the comforts of a place are 
as important to an invalid as the climate. 

The daily charge at Schneiderf s, if you have only 
one room, — which in Italy may serve for all pur- 
poses, — is seven pauls for lodging, ten pauls for 
dinner, and four pauls for breakfast, — altogether 
about ten shillings English. For this, you have a 
good room, an excellent dinner of two courses, with 
a dessert, and as much of the wine of the country as 
you like. — If a man wishes to drink genuine liquor, — 
let him always drink the common wine of the country 
in which he happens to be. Mould candles are also 
thrown into the bargain ; — if you burn wax you pay 
for them, and an extra charge is made for fire. The 
dinner alone in England would cost more than the 
whole daily expenditure. 

The English abound so much in Florence, that a 



40 FLORENCE GALLERY. 

traveller has little occasion for any other language. 
At all the hotels, there is some one connected with 
the house that can speak English. English shops 
abound with all sorts of knick-knacks,— from Reading 
sauce to Woodstock gloves ; — and the last new 
novels stare you in the face at the libraries. 

The first thing every man goes to see in Florence 
is— the Gallery. It is thrown open to the public 
every day except Sundays and holydays, which last 
by-the-bye, occur too often in Italy, to the great 
interruption of business. The attendants are always 
civil and obliging, and without any interested motive, 
for notices are affixed to the doors, to request that 
nothing may be given to them. Upon the same 
principle that a child picks out the plums, before he 
eats the rest of his pudding, — I hurried at once to 
the Sanctum Sanctorum of this Temple of Taste ; — 
the Tribune ; — a small octagon room, the walls of 
which are decorated with a select few of the best 
paintings of the best masters, and in the area of the 
apartment are five of the most admired pieces of 
ancient sculpture. , 

First and foremost amongst these is — " the statue 
that enchants the world" — the unimitated, inimitable 
Venus. She has now resumed her old station after 
her second visit to Paris ; — for I am surprised the 
French did not argue that her adventure with the 
shepherd on Mount Ida, was clearly typical of her 
late trip to their metropolis. 



THE TRIBUNE — VENUS DE MEDICIS. 41 

One is generally disappointed after great expecta- 
tions have been raised, but in this instance I was 
delighted at first sight, and each succeeding visit 
has charmed me more. It is indeed a wonderful 
work in conception and execution, — but I doubt 
whether Venus be not a misnomer. Who can re- 
cognise in this divine statue, any traits of the queen 
of love and pleasure ? It seems rather intended as a 
personification of all that is elegant, graceful, and 
beautiful ; — not only abstracted from all human in- 
firmities, but elevated above all human feelings and 
affections ; — for, though the form is female, the beauty 
is like the beauty of angels, who are of no sex. I 
was at first reminded of Milton's Eve ; but in Eve, — 
even in her days of innocence, — before " she damned 
us all," — there was some tincture of humanity, of 
which there is none in the Venus ; — in whose eye 
there is no heaven, and in whose gesture there is no 
love. 

Immediately behind the statue, is the most famous of 
all the famous Venuses of Titian, who has represented 
the Goddess of Pleasure in her true character — the 
houri of a Mahometan paradise ; — and a most be- 
witching picture it is. But the triumph of the statue 
is complete ; — there is an all-powerful fascination 
about it that rivets the attention, and makes the 
spectator turn away from the picture, — like Hercules 
from the voluptuous blandishments of the Goddess 
of Pleasure, — to devote an exclusive adoration to 



42 VENUS DE MEDICI S. 

the celestial purity of her rival ; — for celestial she 
certainly is. 

The peculiar attribute of her divinity is, not its 
ubiquity, but its individuality. — It seems impossible 
to transfer any portion of her " glorious beauty" to 
a copy. — None of the casts give any idea of the 
nameless grace of the original. — This incommunicable 
essence is always the criterion of transcendent ex- 
cellence. 

The arms are modern, and very inferior to the rest 
of the work. There is something finical and affected 
in the turn of the fingers, wholly at variance with the 
exquisite simplicity of the rest of the figure. 

I must record, — though I would willingly forget, 
— the only traces of humanity in the Venus; which 
escaped my notice in the first fervour of admiration. 
Her ears are bored for ear-rings, which probably 
once hung there ; and her arm bears the mark of 
having been compressed by a bracelet. This last 
ornament might perhaps be excused, but for the other 
barbarous trinkets,— what can be said? I would 
wish to think they were not the work of the original 
sculptor ; but that they might have been added by 
some later proprietor, in the same taste that the 
Squire in Smollett bestows full-curled periwigs, by 
the hand of an itinerant limner, at so much per head, 
on the portraits of his ancestors painted by Vandyke. 

Having said so much of the Venus ; — the others 
may be soon despatched. 



STATUES. 43 

The Apollino is a model of symmetry. The Wrest- 
lers are admirable ; but I should like them better 
if there were more contrast between the figures ; — 
for they are so alike, that they might be supposed to 
be twins. The arm of the vanquished is out of joint, 
from the violence of his overthrow. 

The Knife Grinder, as it is called, may be any 
body. None of the suggestions that have yet been 
made, are completely satisfactory. 

The Faun is principally remarkable, as exhibiting 
the best instance of Michael Angelo's skill in restora- 
tion. He has added a new head, and I doubt if the 
original could have excelled the substitute. Besides 
these, which are in the Tribune ; — there is the Her- 
maphrodite ; — the attitude of which is an exquisite 
specimen of the skill of the ancients, in imitating the 
ease and simplicity of nature. The disposition of 
the reclining figure is so delightfully natural, that you 
feel afraid to approach it, lest you should disturb its 
sleep. This felicity in catching the postures of nature 
is still more happily illustrated in, The Shepherd 
extracting a thorn from his foot. The marble is 
actually alive. Venus rising from the sea, which is 
in one of the corridors, deserves a place in the 
Tribune. 

The head of Alexander is worthy of the son of 
Ammon, and the conqueror of the world. The 
figures in the group of the Niobe are of very un- 
equal merit. Perhaps the taste of the whole is rather 



44 STATUES. 

too theatrical. — Niobe herself, and two of her 
children, are very superior to the rest. — The agony 
of maternal affection is beautifully expressed in the 
figure of Niobe, Did Ovid borrow his affecting 
description from the statue, or did the sculptor take 
his idea from Ovid ? 

Ultima restabat, quam toto corpore Mater, 
Tota veste teg-ens, unam, minimamque relinque ; 
De multis minimam posco, claraavit, et unam ! 

However this be, — the statue and the verses form an 
excellent commentary upon each other. 

Amongst the modern statues there are but few to 
admire. Michael Angelo's Bacchus will have no 
incense from me ; — and his unfinished Brutus has all 
the air of a blacksmith. By the way, this is not 
intended, as it has been often supposed, for Marcus 
Brutus. It is a portrait of one of the Medici, who 
assassinated his uncle, and was called the Florentine 
Brutus ; but proving afterwards the oppressor, and 
not the liberator, of his country, M. Angelo laid aside 
his unfinished bust in disgust. The head of a Satyr, 
— his first essay in sculpture as a boy of fourteen, — 
is a truly wonderful performance ; but there is nothing 
of M. Angelo's in the Gallery, that will compare 
with the Rape of the Sabines, or the bronze Mercury 
of John of Bologna. The Mercury is standing on 
one leg, upborne by the breath of a Zephyr. It is 
a figure of ethereal lightness, and might — " bestride 
the gossamer, that idles in the wanton summer air," 



PAINTINGS. 45 

So much for the sculpture of the Gallery ; — and 
it is equally rich in paintings. In addition to the 
two Venuses of Titian, which exhibit in the highest 
perfection all the glowing beauties of that painter, 
there are also in the Tribune some of the choicest 
works of Raphael. St. John in the Wilderness, and 
the portrait of Fornarina, are in his last and best 
manner, without any trace of that hard dry style, 
derived from his master Perugino, from which he so 
happily lived to emancipate himself. I must also 
mention a portrait of Cardinal Aguechia by Do- 
menichino, which is worthy of being compared with 
the noble picture of Charles Vth. on horseback, by 
Vandyke, that hangs opposite to it ; — and this is praise 
enough. There are some fine bold sketches of 
Salvator Rosa, in the ante-rooms of the Tribune, 
which will well repay the trouble of hunting them 
out ; — and the famous head of Medusa, by Leonardo 
da Vinci, must not be overlooked. 

These are the plums of the Gallery ; — I leave it to 
guides and catalogues to discuss the rest of the pudding. 

Sunday 16th. This evening, Sunday, I was pre- 
sented to the Grand Duke. The Pitti Palace was 
thrown open to receive the congratulations of the 
public on the marriage of the Grand Duke's eldest 
son to a Princess of Saxony. — -The bride, an elegant 
interesting girl of seventeen, paid her respects to the 
company with affability and grace ; — the Grand Duke 
and his family played at cards ; — and every thing 



46 PITTI PALACE — CANOVa's VENUS. 

went off very well ; — but for my part, I could not 
help thinking we were all de trop, — as the marriage 
had only taken place in the morning. 

The palace, spacious and splendid. The state- 
rooms were thrown open, and we roamed about 
without restraint, and were regaled with all kinds of 
refreshments. The boudoir, — in the centre of which 
stands Canova's Venus, — brilliantly illuminated, and 
lined with mirrors, reflected the beauties of her figure 
in all directions, and exhibited the statue to the 
highest advantage. This is the statue which occupied 
the pedestal of the Medicean Venus, during her flight 
to Paris : — but I can find nothing divine about Canova's 
Venus. She is not worthy to officiate as chamber- 
maid to the Goddess of the Tribune. It is simply 
the representation of a modest woman, who seems to 
shrink from exposure in such a dishabille ; while her 
Grecian prototype, in native innocence and simplicity, 
— scarcely conscious of nakedness, — seems to belong 
to an order of beings to whom the sentiment of 
shame was as yet unknown. 

The attitude of Canova's is constrained, and per- 
haps even awkward. This may arise from the 
manner in which she compresses that scanty drapery 
which the sculptor has given her, — intended, I sup- 
pose, — " to double every charm it seeks to hide." 
The symmetry too is by no means perfect. The head 
is manifestly too large. It is perhaps unfair to at- 
tribute to the sculptor the faults of the marble, but 



ITALIAN MASQUERADES. 47 

it is impossible not to remark, that even if the work 
had been more perfect than it is, the unfortunate flaws, 
just in those places where they are most mal-d-propos, 
must still have detracted much from its beauty, 
Many of the copies of this statue seem to me quite 
equal, if not superior to the original ; an infallible 
proof, if the remark be correct, of its mediocrity of 
merit. 

The Princess wished us good night at ten o'clock ; 
— and we were all bowed out. 

Monday, 17th. A long morning amongst the 
pictures in the Pitti Palace. A magnificent collec- 
tion. Their value may be estimated by the fact of 
the French, who certainly had the knack of finding 
out what was worth stealing, taking away no less 
than sixty-three to the Louvre. These are now 
returned. 

Tuesday, 18th. This evening the city of Florence 
gave a masked ball at the rooms of the Belle Arti, to 
which the Grand Duke, and all the Court were invited. 
The Italians have been celebrated for their masque- 
rading talents ; — but if this ball were taken as a sam- 
ple, a masquerade is a duller thing in Italy than in 
England. I believe it is never entertaining but in a 
novel, — and there very seldom. 

The young bride, in a room set apart for the 
purpose, opened a select ball ; and I was pleased 
that she chose our old-fashioned, well-behaved coun- 
try dance. 



48 ITALIAN MASQUERADES. 

19th. Another morning in the Pitti ; — but more of 
the pictures hereafter. — Lounged carelessly through 
the rooms, without any guide of any kind, trusting to 
first impressions. When one has thus, by two or 
three visits, become familiarized with what one likes, 
and what one does not, it is useful to get a catalogue, 
and compare one's sensations with authority. Pro- 
tect me from the tiresome flippancy of a professed 
Cicerone, — who takes you round a gallery of pic- 
tures, like the showman of a collection of wild beasts. 

Thursday, 20th. In the evening, a masqued ball 
at the Cascine Rooms, to which the Court and the 
English were invited ; but as I have already had a 
peep at these gew-gaws, which I consider only as 
Lions to be seen with the other raree-shows of a 
foreign country, I prefer the " society of solitude" 
in my own arm-chair. 

21st. This evening brought the news of the 
Princess Charlotte's death, creating a sensation which 
has seldom been produced by any public disaster. 
It seemed to be felt by all the English as a domestic 
calamity. The Charge d'affaires wrote to the Grand 
Duke, on the part of the English, to excuse their at- 
tendance at a ball and supper, which had been fixed 
for the ensuing Sunday at the Pitti Palace. 

The Duke, we are told, was much pleased with 
the feeling that give rise to this note, and exclaimed, 
" Voild de I 'esprit vraiment national ! — cela leur fait 
beaucoup d'honneur." All the English put on deep 



COUNTESS OF ALBANY. 49 

mourning. Poor Charlotte! and poor Leopold! 
and poor England ! — but all public feelings are ab- 
sorbed in lamenting her fate as a woman, a wife, 
and a mother. 

22nd. To the Laurentian library, which is one 
of the raree-shows of Florence ; — but a library is not 
a thing to be stared at. Here they show you the 
famous copy of the Pandects, for which you will not 
be a whit the wiser ; and one of the oldest manuscripts 
extant of Virgil, written in a very beautiful character, 
in which I neither found the culex, nor the four lines 
" Ille ego qui quondam," usually prefixed to the 
iEneid. There is a Petrarch, too, ornamented with 
portraits of the poet, and his Laura, taken, as it is 
said, from the life. — I looked with more interest at 
the finger of Galileo, which is here preserved under 
a glass case, — pointing with a triumphant expression 
to those heavens, which he was condemned to a dun- 
geon for having explored. 

Adjoining is the church of St. Lorenzo ; and the 
mausoleum of the Medici, — a splendid piece of non- 
sense which has never been completed. The church 
is full of the works of Michael Angelo ; — but it is no 
easy matter to comprehend allegorical statues. 

Countess of Albany's party in the evening. She 
still maintains the form and ceremony of Queen-Dow- 
ager, wearing the arms of England on her carriage, 
and receiving a circle every Saturday evening, with 
a strictness of etiquette exceeding that of the Grand 

E 



50 CHURCHES OF FLORENCE. 

Duke's court. She was almost the only person out of 
mourning. This was, to say the least of it, bad taste. 
If there is no alliance of blood, there is a pecuniary 
relationship between her and the English government, 
— from which she receives an annual pension of 
fifteen hundred pounds, — that might well have afforded 
a black gown. It would be difficult to trace in her 
present appearance, any remains of those charms, 
that could attract and attach the fiery and fastidious 
Alfieri. 

Sunday 2Sd. To mass in the cathedral. Of the 
churches of Florence I say little. The subject is 
endless, — and indeed Eustace has exhausted it. It is 
impossible not to admire the magnificence of their 
internal decorations ; — but it is a magnificence that 
fatigues, and perhaps disgusts a Protestant, unaccus- 
tomed to the pomp and pageantry of Catholic wor- 
ship. External modes however are after all mere 
matters of taste, about which there is no disputing ; — 
and the Italians seem to be attracted by splendour. 
One thing however, at least, must be remarked in 
favour of the churches ; — they are always open. 
Piety will never, in this country, find the church 
doors shut in her face. Service seems to be going on 
all day and every day. The favourite altar at this 
time, — for the altar itself is not exempt from the in- 
fluence of fashion, — is at the S. Nunziata. In asking 
my way to La Santa Nunziata, I was often corrected 
with " Caro lei la Santissima Nunziata h di IA" — 



REFLECTIONS ON PAINTING. 51 

as if the omission of the superlative had given offence ; 
— but the attraction even of an altar has its clay. 

24th. Again to the Pitti. A catalogue of pic- 
tures is a sad dull business, — and I must rather endea- 
vour to record my own sentiments and reflections. 
The cant of criticism, and the dogmatism of know- 
ledge, would confine all right of judgment upon paint- 
ing and sculpture to those alone who have been duly 
initiated in the mysteries of virtu ; whereas it seems 
to me, that it is with painting and sculpture, — as 
Johnson has pronounced it to be with poetry, — 
it is by the common sense of mankind, after all, that 
the claims to excellence must finally be decided. 

Painting, considered as a fine art, is principally 
valuable, as it is historical, or poetical ; by which terms 
I would not be understood to signify the ideas usually 
attached to them ; — but, by an historical picture, I 
mean one which represents the subject as it really 
was;- — by a poetical, — one which represents the sub- 
ject as it existed in the mind of the painter. Mere 
excellence of execution is, I think, the lowest claim 
a painter can advance to admiration. As well might 
a literary production rest its pretensions upon the 
mere beauties of the style. If the composition neither 
please the imagination, nor inform the understanding, 
to what purpose is its being written in elegant lan- 
guage? In the same manner, drawing and colours 
— the language of painting, — can as little, of them- 
selves, form a title to praise. 

E 2 



52 REFLECTIONS ON PAINTING. 

When I visit collections of paintings, I go to have 
my understanding instructed, my senses charmed, my 
feelings roused, my imagination delighted or exalted. 
If none of these effects be produced, it is in vain to 
tell me that a picture is painted with the most exact 
attention to all the rules of art. At such pictures I 
look without interest, and turn away from them with 
indifference. If any sensation be excited, it is a 
feeling of regret, that such powers of style should 
have existed, without any sparks of that Promethean 
heat, which alone confers upon them any real value. If 
this be wanting, it is in vain that a connoisseur descants 
upon the merits of the drawing, the correctness of the 
perspective, and the skill of the arrangement. These 
are mere technical beauties, and may be interesting to 
the student in painting ; but the liberal lover of the 
arts looks for those higher excellencies, which have 
placed painting in the same rank with poetry. For 
what, in fact, are the works of Michael Angelo, — 
Raphael, — Murillo, — Salvator Rosa, — Claude, — Ni- 
cholas Poussin, — and Sir Joshua Reynolds ; — but the 
sublime and enchanting, — the terrific and heart-rend- 
ing conceptions of — a Homer, — a Virgil, — a Shak- 
speare, — a Dante, — a Byron, — or a Scott, — "turned 
into shapes !"— They are the kindred productions of a 
congenial inspiration. 

Yet, I would not be understood to deny all merit 
to mere excellence of execution. 1 would only wish 
to ascertain its true place in the scale. The perfect 



PITTI COLLECTION — RAPHAEL. 53 

imitation of beautiful nature in the landscapes of 
Hobbima or Ruysdaal, — the blooming wonders that 
expand under the pencil of Van-Huysum, — and the 
exquisite finishing of Gerhard Douw's laborious pa- 
tience, — cannot be viewed with absolute indifference. 
Still less would I wish to deny the praise that is due 
to the humorous productions of Teniers, Hogarth, or 
Wilkie. These have a peculiar merit of their own, 
and evince the same creative powers of mind, which 
are exhibited by the true vis comica in the works of 
literature. 

The collection in the Pitti abounds in every variety 
of excellence. There are eight Raphaels. It is 
difficult to speak with moderation of Raphael. Those 
who undervalue him rate him by his worst pro- 
ductions, of which there are some to be found of a 
very ordinary merit; — those who admire him look 
only to his best, — and these are above all praise. 
The character of his genius was extraordinary. Most 
painters may almost be said to have been born so ; 
and I think Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mr. West have 
expressed something like a feeling of humiliation, 
upon finding, at threescore, how very little they 
could add to the first juvenile productions of their 
pencils. Raphael was a genius of a slower growth, 
and it would be difficult to discover, in the hard dry 
outlines of his first manner, any indication of that 
felicity of conception and execution which is so con- 
spicuous in his maturer works. His females are 



54 PITTI COLLECTION — VANDYKE. 

beings of an exclusive species ; and if he painted from 
nature, he was fortunate in his acquaintance. The 
Madonna is a subject which he has appropriated and 
made his own: — it is only tolerable in his hands; — 
or, at least, after seeing his, there is no tolerating 
any other; — Guido's sky-blue draperies notwith- 
standing. 

Raphael's Madonna delta Seggiola unites the most 
opposite graces ; — there is a refined elegance, joined 
to a diffident simplicity, with a gentle tenderness 
pervading the whole expression of her figure, which 
realizes all one's conceptions of that mother, from 
whom the meek Jesus, — who, in the agonies of death, 
offered up a prayer for his executioners, — derived his 
human nature. His portraits too are excellent, com- 
bining the force and the richness of the Flemish and 
Venetian schools, and are second only to the happiest 
efforts of Vandyke. 

Vandyke must ever be the prince of portrait 
painters. He is at once historical and poetical. Any 
dauber may paint a sign-post likeness ; but a portrait 
must have spirit and character as well as resemblance. 
Vandyke seems to embody, in one transient ex- 
pression of the countenance, — which is all that a 
painter can give, — the whole character of his subject 
The Bentwoglio is a magnificent specimen of his 
talent in this way. The subject is worthy of his 
pencil, and seems to have pleased him. It is a full 
length — dressed in a Cardinal's robes. The head in 



PITTI COLLECTION — SALVATOR ROSA. 55 

Lavater was probably taken from this picture, but it 
has lost a great deal by being separated from the 
figure ;— the attitude and commanding air of which 
are admirable. 

Salvator Rosa is to me the most poetical of all 
painters ; by which I mean, not only that he possesses 
that mens divinior, that mysterious power over the 
grand, the sublime, and the terrible, which constitutes 
the soul of a poet ; — but also, that he ministers more 
than any other painter to the imagination of the 
spectator. There is always a something more than 
meets the eye, in his wild and romantic sketches, 
which awakens a train of associations, and sets in 
motion the airy nothings of the fancy. You may 
look at his pictures for ever, without feeling the least 
satiety. There is a battle of his in the Pitti, which 
might serve as a study to all the poets who have sung 
of battles, — from Homer down to Walter Scott. 
What a picture he would have made of the witches 
in Macbeth, which Sir Joshua Reynolds has managed 
so unhappily ; — or of Meg Merrilies hurling her 
parting imprecations upon the Laird of Ellangowan ! 
He seems to be in painting what Byron is in poetry, 
or Kean in acting; — and it would be difficult to 
praise him more. There is a portrait of himself, by 
himself, that promises all the genius which is exhibited 
in his works. 

The Four Philosophers, — a splendid picture by 
Rubens — worthy of the master of Vandyke. 



56 GABINETTO FISICO. 

The Fates, — one of the few oil paintings that 
Michael Angelo has given us, — are finely conceived — 

" facies non omnibus una, 
Nee di versa tamen, qualem decet esse sororum." 

The features remind one of the portrait of Dante. 
There is something quite appalling in the solemn 
severity, — the terrible gravity of their demeanour. 
They might stand for the weird sisters of Shakspeare, 
if the witches be indeed sublime ; — but I fear that 
" mounch't and mounch't and mounch't" brings them 
down to the level of old women. 

Luther and Calvin, by Giorgioni, detained me a 
long while, though perhaps more from the interest of 
the subject than the merit of the painting. I fancied 
I read in the harsh lines of Calvin's countenance, that 
brutal spirit, which could enjoy the spectacle of the 
sufferings of his victim Servetus, and find materials 
for ridicule in the last afflicting agonies of affrighted 
nature. 

A St. John in the Wilderness, by Andrea del Sarto, 
in the last room, is the only picture I have seen, 
that might form an exception to Forsyth's character 
of that Painter ; who says, " He has neither poetry 
in his head, nor pathos in his heart." — But enough of 
pictures for the present. 

25th. Visited the Gabinetto Fisico. This is a 
shockingly accurate imitation of dissected subjects, 
in wax. I went in immediately after breakfast, and 
was as much discomposed as I could have been by 



CHURCH OF SANTA CROCE. 57 

so many real carcases. It is too horrible, and, it 
might be added, too indecent an exhibition for mis- 
cellaneous admission. Yet, all the world, men and 
women, lounge there; — though all that is revolting 
and disgusting in disease or deformity is laid bare 
and exposed, with a nakedness that can only be 
gratifying to the eye of science. The commencement 
and progress of the fatal plague at Florence is re- 
presented in miniature ; and, from the effect produced 
by looking at it, I am inclined to believe what is 
said, — that if it had been made as large as life, it 
would have been too horrible for exhibition. Gallery 
again. 

26th. The most interesting church here is the 
S. Croce, — the Westminster Abbey of Florence ; — 
for here are the bones and the tombs of Galileo, 
Machiavelli, Michael Angelo, and Alfieri. Ma- 
chiavelli's epitaph is a good specimen of that brevity, 
which, when well managed, makes an epitaph so 
impressive — 

Tanto nomini nullum par elogium. 
Nicholaus Machiavelli. 

Michael Angelo is buried, according to his own 
desire, so that his grave might command a view 
of the cupola of the cathedral, — the work of Brun- 
nelleschi ; which suggested to him the idea of his own 
grander work at St. Peter's. 

The Florentines would gladly have recovered the 
bones of Dante, whom they exiled, to die at Ra- 



J 



58 RAPHAEL MORGHEN. 

venna; and they point with pride to an original 
picture of him in fresco on the wall of the ca- 
thedral. 

27th. Bitterly cold. A Siberian wind from the 
Apennines cuts one to the heart. This is no place 
for the winter. The scene must be changed ; — but 
whither ? Pisa will never do, after Florence. It is 
as well to die of consumption as of emiui. All the 
world is going to Rome, — and every body says that 
Rome is a charming place in the winter. What 
every body says must be true; -and I shall swim 
with the stream. 

28th to 5th December. Very unwell. My sur- 
geon attributes my illness to the water, which, he 
says, is very noxious here. I believe it has more to 
do with the air, for it is more cold than ever I felt 
it in England, whatever the thermometer may say to 
the contrary. 

6th. A long morning at Morghen's ; — the first 
engraver in the world. His Last Supper, from the 
picture of Leonardo da Vinci, is the triumph of 
engraving. It is pity that he did nofengrave the 
Madonna della Seggiola at a later period, in his 
best and softest manner. How could he throw 
away his time and his labour on the Madonna del 
Sacco ; — the fresco daub of Andrea del Sarto? 
Gallery again. 

Met a funeral procession with a military guard. 
Upon inquiry, I found the defunct was a Jew, and 



BERTOLINI — CHEAPNESS OF SCULPTURE. 59 

that the precaution was necessary as a protection 
against the insults of the populace. 

Sunday 7th. Bertolini's studio. There is no 
sculptor of eminence now at Florence. Bertolini 
is an excellent workman, and takes admirable like- 
nesses ; and if he were employed less in this way, 
might succeed in original composition. It is now 
the fashion among the English to sit to him ; — and 
you find all your acquaintance drawn up in fearful 
array, in hard marble ; — some at full length ! If 
this fashion hold, it will give posterity some trouble. 
Family pictures are easily put out of the way; 
but family statues would be sadly durable lumber, 
— unless indeed they found their way to the lime- 
kiln. 

The cheapness of sculpture here must injure our 
English artists. Casts have been imported from 
London of the busts of the King, Fox, Pitt, Nelson, 
Perceval, and many others. These Bertolini repro- 
duces in marble, and sends back to London, all 
expenses of carriage included, for twenty-two pounds 
each. 

Made a circuit of the palaces. The Corsini and 
Gerini have each of them a fine collection of pic- 
tures. I was particularly struck with two, by Carlo 
Dolci, whose productions are generally too cloying 
for my taste. The first is the figure of Poetry in 
the Corsini palace, — one of the most beautiful coun- 
tenances I ever saw ; — the charms of which are 



60 MOZZI PALACE. 

lighted up by that indefinable expression, which 
makes the face the index of the mind, and gives the 
assurance, at the first glance, of intellectual supe- 
riority. The other is the Martyrdom of St. Andrew 
in the Gerini palace ; — a most affecting picture ; the 
impression of which is aided by every excellence 
of arrangement, contrast, and colouring. 

At the Mozzi palace is Benvenuto's picture of 
the Saxons taking the Oath of Confederation, after 
the battle of Jena. The figure of Napoleon is ad- 
mirable ; and it is said to be one of the best portraits 
extant of that extraordinary being. 

Vespers at the Duomo ; — afterwards to the Cas- 
cine — the public drive and promenade, — in a word, — 
the Hyde-park of Florence. 



61 



CHAPTER III. 

Journey to Rome — The Forum — Palace of the 
Cxsars — Climate — Tombs — The Tiber — Temple 
of Vesta — Cloaca Maxima — Baths of Caracalla — 
Fountain of Egeria. 

Monday, 8th Dec. LiEFT Florence with a 
friend, who had a seat to let in his caliche; — and 
we agreed to travel together. Having met with a 
courier, who was working his way home and offered 
to serve us for his expenses, — we engaged him to 
accompany us; — though nothing, but our complete 
inexperience of Italian travelling, would have re- 
conciled me to such an ostentatious piece of ex- 
travagance. 

This man's business is to ride on before you; 
get the horses ready at the post-houses ; and pre- 
pare for your reception at the inns where you may 
be inclined to halt. Carlo, I believe, protects us 
from much imposition; and as he conducts all the 
disbursements and disputes on the road, which are 
in fact synonymous terms,- — for wherever there is 
a disbursement there is a dispute ; — what he saves 
us in breath and temper is incalculable. 



62 JOURNEY TO ROME. 

The road to Sienna is hilly and tedious, and we 
did not arrive till after dark. 

9th. Left Sienna long before it was light in the 
morning ; being in some anxiety about passing the 
Ricorsi, a mountain-torrent, which, at this season, is 
very liable to be swollen by the rains, and has some- 
times detained travellers on the road for many days. 
The Guide Book informs you, quaintly enough, that 
you will have to pass it four times, — if you are not 
swallowed up in either of the first three. Having 
safely forded this stream, we arrived, at the close of 
evening, at Acquapendente. The accommodations 
here were so uninviting, that we proceeded on to S. 
Lorenzo ; and as it was now quite dark, my compa- 
nion would insist upon taking a small escort of ca- 
valry. This I thought unwise ; — it was making sure 
of being pillaged by the soldiers ; — whereas, the dan- 
ger from robbers was only contingent. 

At S. Lorenzo, we found that we had fallen from 
the frying-pan into the fire. The inn had a most 
unfrequented appearance, and our arrival was the 
signal of destruction to some poor fowls, who were 
quietly at roost, — dreaming of that to-morrow which 
was never to come. 

10th. We rose early again, and breakfasted at 
Bolsena, on the borders of the lake. The inhabitants 
bear ample testimony, by their pale and sickly ap- 
pearance, to the existence of the malaria. Through- 
out this day, the road was beautiful ; — commanding 



JOURNEY TO ROME. 63 

every variety of prospect ; — hill and dale, wood and 
water. 

The environs of Viterbo — bold and beautiful. — 
Halted for the night at Baccano ; — the inn of which 
has been undeservedly denounced by Forsyth. What- 
ever may be said of the roast beef of old England, I 
think we might learn much from our neighbours, in 
the science of good living. The inns in Italy are ge- 
nerally better than those of an equal class in England. 
What can a traveller hope to find at a country-inn in 
England, but the choice of a beef-steak, a mutton- 
chop, or a veal-cutlet ? For one of these, — with 
some bad beer, or worse wine, — he will be charged 
more than he will pay in Italy for an abundance and 
variety of dishes. The wines of the country are light, 
pleasant, and wholesome ; and in that great article of 
a traveller's comfort, — his bed, — Italy has again the 
advantage. Instead of the suffocating feather-beds 
of England, you find every where an elastic refresh- 
ing mattress, which will conduce to ensure a good 
night's sleep, in spite of the dreary unfurnished room 
in which it is placed. 

11th. We rose early in order to reach Rome in 
good time. It was a rainy day ; so that when we 
ascended the hill about two miles from Baccano, from 
which we ought to have seen Rome, — we saw nothing. 
The approach to Rome is, as all travellers have 
described it. You pass over miles of a barren com- 
mon, much like Hounslow Heath ; and when, at last, 



64 ARRIVAL AT ROME. 

you arrive at the gate of the Eternal City, the first 
impression is, I think, a feeling of disappointment. 
But this, perhaps, may be referred to the exaggerated 
expectations, in which, till philosophy and experience 
have given sobriety to our views, we are all too prone 
to indulge. We have only to consider the limited 
powers of man, and to examine what he has been able 
to do, with a reference to his means of performance, 
and the tone of our expectations will be lowered to 
a just leveL We were soon in the Piazza di Spagna, 
—the focus of fashion, and the general resort of the 
English. Some travellers have compared it to Gros- 
venor-square ; — but the Piazza di Spagna is little 
more than an irregular open space, a little less nasty 
than the other piazzas in Rome, because the habits 
of the people are in some measure restrained by the 
presence of the English. Still, there is quite enough 
left to make me believe the Romans the nastiest 
people in Christendom, — if I had not seen the Portu- 
guese. 

The English swarm every where. We found all 
the inns full. It seemed like a country town in 
England at an assizes. To look for lodgings was 
impossible, for it rained unmercifully. By the way, 
when it does rain here, it pours with a down-right 
vehemence that we are but little accustomed to in 
England. We got a resting-place for the night with 
some difficulty, at the Hotel de Paris. Dear and 
bad. 



ROME. (35 

12th. Signed the articles of a triumvirate with 
two friends, who were on the same pursuit after 
lodgings with myself. Established ourselves at No. 43, 
Via degli Otto Cantoni, Cor so. This situation is 
bad. The Corso is the* Bond-street of Rome ; — 
but it is also the Billingsgate. There are two fish- 
stalls uuder my window, the people belonging to 
which commence their vociferations as soon as it is 
light. There is, however, at least, more variety in 
these cries than in the perpetual " All alive ho !" of 
London. The Italian fish-monger displays all the 
humour he is master of to get rid of his stock, and he 
will sometimes apostrophize his stale mullet with 
ludicrous effrontery ; — " Pesce ! cosa fate ? Pesce ! 
state chete /" But the worst objection to our lodgings 
is their height. We are on the quarto piano ; — a 
hundred and four steps from the ground — though this 
objection relates only to convenience ; for it is by no 
means mawcais ton in Rome, to live in the upper 
story, which does not at all answer to our garret. 
Here, — your approach to heaven does not in the least 
detract from your gentility. 

Our lodgings consist of two sitting-rooms, three 
bed-rooms, servant's room, and kitchen ; for which 
we pay thirty sequins, — about fifteen pounds English — 
per month. The charge of a traiteur for supplying 
you with dinner at home, varies from six to ten pauls 
per head. We get Orvietto wine at something less 
than two pauls a bottle. This wine is pleasant, 



66 ROME. 

though it is said to be very unwholesome. But the 
wine of wines is Velletri, which costs us little more 
than a paul a bottle ; and a bottle holds nearly two 
English quarts. The paul is something less than 
sixpence, forty -four being the value of a pound sterling, 
when the exchange is at par. 

December 13th to 25th. Sight-seeing. Of the 
sights of Rome it is impossible to say nothing, — 
and it is difficult to say any thing new. What so 
many have told, who would tell again? — I must be 
content to record first impressions. There are two 
modes of seeing Rome, — the topograhical, — followed 
by Yasi ; who parcels out the town into eight divi- 
sions, and jumbles every thing together, — antiquities, 
churches, and palaces, — if their situation be contiguous ; 
— and the chronological, — which would carry you 
regularly from the house of Romulus, to the palace of 
the reigning Pontiff. The first mode is the most 
expeditious, and the least expensive ; — for even if the 
traveller walk a-foot. the economy of time is worth 
considering ; — and, after all that can be urged in 
favour of the chronological order, on the score of 
reason, Vasi's plan is perhaps the best. For, all that 
is worth seeing at all, is worth seeing twice. Vasi's 
mode hurries you through every thing, but it enables 
you to select and note down those objects that are 
worthy of further examination, and these may be 
afterwards studied at leisure. Of the great majority 
of sights, it must be confessed, that all we obtain for 



ROME. G7 

our labour is, — the knowledge that they are not 
worth seeing ; — but this is a knowledge that no one 
is willing to receive upon the authority of another, 
and Vasi's plan offers a most expeditious mode of 
arriving at this truth, by one's own proper experience. 
His plan is indeed too expeditious, for he would get 
through the whole town, with all its wonders, ancient 
and modern, — in eight days ! This might suit young 
Rapid exactly, but I am content to follow the course 
he has chalked out, at a more leisurely pace. 

As a guide to Rome, Vasi's book is worth all the 
books of travels put together. It is all that it professes 
to be, and no more, — a mere catalogue ; but it is com- 
prehensive and accurate. There is nothing to direct 
the taste or influence the judgment ; — but a traveller 
should observe for himself, and, it is much better that 
he should not see through the eyes of others. Forsyth's 
book is a mine of original remarks, expressed in the 
most forcible language ; but, one laments that the 
author did not live to complete a work, of which his 
present volume is little more than the Text-Book. 

Eustace, notwithstanding the many charms of his 
book, is not the most accurate of all travellers ; and 
one is sometimes led to doubt, whether he really ever 
saw the places he describes. 

If a book of travels must be taken as a guide, 
Lalande's is perhaps the best, which is full of lore 
and learning: but it is as dull and dry as Vasi's 
Catalogue, — and a great deal longer. 

F 2 



68 ROME. 

Some remains of the Palatine, — the Capitoline, — 
the Celian, — the Aventine, — the Quirinal, — the Vi- 
minal, — and the Esquiline Hills — are still to be dis- 
tinguished. The most interesting relics will be found 
on the two first, — the oldest establishments of Rome ; 
— for the first foundations of Romulus were limited 
to the Palatine Hill. 

— Porta est, ait, ista Palati ; 



Hie stator, hoc primum condita Roma loco est. 

Ovid. 

The best view of the site of ancient Rome is 
from the tower of the modern capitol. The modern 
city has been so much elevated by the rubbish and 
dilapidation of centuries, that, it is matter of surprise, 
the shape and situation of the ancient hills still re- 
main so visible. The pavement of old Rome is 
often discovered at a depth of forty feet. Every 
thing is developed by excavation ; and the Coliseum 
itself loses much of its effect, by the mound of earth 
accumulated around it. One may judge of the great- 
ness of the wreck, from the effects thus produced by 
its overthrow. Still, however, we shall be at a loss 
to find room for the three millions, which is not 
the highest estimate that is given, as the amount 
of the ancient population. It is rather the quality 
of what remains, than the quantity, that impresses 
one with an idea of the grandeur and magnificence 
of ancient Rome. There is the fragment of a cor- 
nice, lying in the gardens of the Colonna Palace, 



ROME FORUM.. 69 

which looks as if it had been brought from the land 
of Brobdingnag ; — for no pillars of present existence 
could support an entablature of such gigantic pro- 
portions, as that of which this cornice must have 
formed a part. One might imagine some great con- 
vulsion of nature had swallowed up the city, and 
left a few fragments to tell the tale of its existence 
to other times. 

One of my first excursions was to the Forum. It 
is difficult to conceive, and impossible to describe, 
the effect produced by the admonitus locorum of this 
memorable scene, — reduced as it now is again to 
something like the state which Virgil describes, in 
the days of Evander ; — 

Passimque armenta videbant, 
Romanoque foro et lautis mugire Carinis. 

The Roman forum is now the Campo Vaccino — 
the papal Smithfield ; — but it is still the finest walk 
in the world ; and I doubt whether, in the proudest 
days of its magnificence, it could have interested a 
spectator more than it now does, — fallen as it is 
from its high estate. Nothing can be more striking, 
or more affecting, than the contrast between what it 
was, — and what it is. There is enough in the totter- 
ing ruins which yet remain, to recal the history of 
its ancient grandeur; — while its present misery and 
degradation are obtruded upon you at every step. 
Here Horace lounged ; — here Cicero harangued ;— 
and here now, the modern Romans count their beads, 



70 ROME — THE COLISEUM. 

— kill their pigs, — cleanse their heads, — and violate 
the sanctity of the place, by every species of abo- 
mination. 

The walk from the Capitol to the Coliseum com- 
prises the history of ages. The broken pillars that 
remain of the Temple of Concord, the Temple of 
Jupiter Tonans, and the Comitium, tell the tale of 
former times, in language at once the most pathetic 
and intelligible ; — it is a mute eloquence, surpassing 
all the powers of description. It would seem as if 
the destroying angel had a taste for the picturesque ; 
— for the ruins are left just as the painter would most 
wish to have them. 

The arches of the emperors scarcely appear in 
harmony with the rest of the scene, and do not 
accord witli^the magnificent scale of all around them. 
I doubt whether Titus's arch be wider or higher than 
Temple-Bar. ^ 

The Duchess of Devonshire is excavating round 
Phocas's Pillar ; — re-making the gulf which Curtius 
closed. Criminals in chains are employed in this 
work, under the superintendence of a military guard ; 
— but, if patriotism and virtue be again necessary 
to fill up the chasm, where shall we find the ma- 
terials here ? 

Of the Coliseum more hereafter ; — for the first im- 
pression of the Via Sacra is so overwhelming, that the 
mind is lost in its own reflections, and has no leisure 
for the examination of details. 



ROME PALACE OF THE CAESARS. 71 

Marius, in his exile, sitting amongst the ruins of 
Carthage, must have been an affecting spectacle. 
Napoleon, amongst the ruins of Rome, would per- 
haps afford as striking a picture : — but Napoleon 
never was in Rome : — if he had returned victorious 
from Russia, it is said, that he had intended to make 
a triumphal entry into the eternal city, and to be 
crowned in St. Peter's. 

The Palace of the Caesars. The whole of this 
region, — comprehending all that remains of the re- 
sidence of the emperors, and the golden house of 
Nero, — is now a desert, full of ruins, and fragments 
of temples, and baths, — presenting an awful picture 
of fallen greatness. The spot is beautiful, and com- 
mands a fine view of Rome. , The soil seems rich, 
if one may judge from the crops of cabbages and 
artichokes, which it is now made to produce. Great 
part, however, of this vast tract is covered with 
wild brush-wood, where you may easily lose yourself 
if you will. In my last stroll through this wilder- 
ness, I encountered a Fox, who paused for a moment 
to stare at me ; — as if he were doubting which of 
the two was to be considered as the intruder. This 
Fox seems to be the genius of the place, and delights 
to shew himself to all travellers. There are some 
remains of a terrace, overlooking the Circus Maximus, 
from which the emperors gave the signal for the 
commencement of the games. 

In another quarter are three rooms,— discovered 



72 ROME— CLIMATE. 

about forty years ago. These chambers are in good 
preservation, and afford a sample of the ancient Ro- 
man taste in the construction and proportions of their 
apartments. They seem to have received their light, 
like the Pantheon, from a hole in the ceiling ; and, 
instead of the formal square which so much prevails 
in modern rooms, each of the four sides in these is 
broken into a circular recess or bow. The same ac- 
cumulation of soil seems to have taken place here, on 
the Palatine Hill, as elsewhere ; for these chambers 
which must have been once on the surface, are now 
thirty feet below ground. These rooms appeared to 
me to be models of proportion, and the effect of 
the loose flowing outline, produced by the hollowing 
out of the sides into recesses, is much more pleasing 
than the harsh angular preciseness of a parallelo- 
gram. 

Dec. 20th. The more I see of Italy, the more I 
doubt whether it be worth while for an invalid to 
encounter the fatigues of so long a journey, for the 
sake of any advantages to be found in it, in respect of 
climate, during the winter. To come to Italy, with 
the hope of escaping the winter, is a grievous mis- 
take. This might be done by getting into the south- 
ern hemisphere, but in Europe it is impossible ; and, 
I believe, that Devonshire after all, may be the best 
place for an invalid, during that season. If the ther- 
mometer be not so low here, the temperature is more 
variable, and the winds are more bitter and cutting. 



ROME — CLIMATE. 



73 



In Devonshire too, all the comforts of the country 
are directed against cold ; — here, all the precautions 
are the other way. The streets are built to exclude 
as much as possible the rays of the sun, and are now 
as damp and cold, as rain or frost can make them. 
And then, — what a difference between the warm 
carpet, the snug elbowed chair, and the blazing coal- 
fire of an English winter evening; — and the stone 
staircases, marble floors, and starving casements of 
an Italian house! — where every thing is designed to 
guard against the heat of summer ; which occupies as 
large a proportion of the Italian year, as the winter 
season does of our own. The only advantage of 
Italy then is, that your penance is shorter than it 
would be in England ; for I repeat, that during the 
time it lasts, winter is more severely felt here, than 
at Sidmouth, where I would even recommend an 
Italian invalid to repair, from November till Febru- 
ary ; — if he could possess himself of Fortunatus's cap, 
to remove the difficulties of the journey. 

Having provided myself with a warm cloak, — 
which is absolutely necessary, where the temperature 
varies twenty degrees between one street and another, 
— I have been proceeding leisurely through the won- 
ders of Rome. In travelling round the circuit of the 
antiquities, it is curious to remark, how the scale of 
buildings gradually increases, from the little modest 
temple of Vesta, to the temple of For tuna Virilis, 
and the other works of the republic ; — till they swell 



74 ROME THE TOMBS THE TIBER. 

out into colossal magnificence, in the vast works of 
Nero, Vespasian, and Caracalla, 

The same remark may be extended to the tombs ; 
and the same growing taste for ostentation may be 
traced, from the earlier days of the republic, to the 
tomb of Caecilia Metella, the wife of Crassus. Au- 
gustus carried this taste further in his mausoleum ; — 
though he was at least social enough to admit his 
family. Adrian, at last, outdid all former out- 
doings, and constructed that enormous pile, which 
is now the Castle of St. Angelo, — for the exclusive 
accommodation of his own single carcase. 

Dec. 21st. The Tiber has been very differently 
described by different writers. Some have been able 
to find in it, nothing better than a muddy ditch ; 
while others have exalted it to an equality with the 
finest rivers in Europe. The first sight of it has, I 
believe, generally occasioned a feeling of disappoint- 
ment. But, when we come to admeasurement, we 
find, that at the Pons ^Elius, — now the Ponte S. 
Angelo, — the breadth is about 212 English feet. 
This is the narrowest point. At the Pons Milvius, 
— now the Ponte Molle, — the breadth increases ; 
and two miles above Rome, the river is nearly twice 
as broad as it is within the walls. This contraction 
of the stream within the town, will be a sufficient 
explanation of the destructive inundations, which 
have taken place at various periods. 

Some remains of the Sublician Bridge still exist ; 



ROME TEMPLE OF VESTA. 75 

— and your guide would wish you to believe, that 
this was the scene of Horatius Codes' gallantry. But, 
in travelling round the antiquities of Rome, there is, 
I fear, great occasion for scepticism, with respect to 
the propriety of the names that have been so confi- 
dently applied to many of them. 

The Temple of Vesta, a pretty modest little build- 
ing, seems to belong to this doubtful order ; — though 
here, the doubt is, — not whether it is a temple of 
Vesta, — but the Temple of Vesta. Its situation on 
the bank of the river, seems to accord with Horace's 
Monumenta Vestoz ; and its geography will agree with 
the ventum erat ad Vestoz, of the ninth satire, — where 
it is represented as lying in his way from the Via Sacra, 
to the gardens of Caesar, trans Tiberim ; — nor is 
Ovid's description at all unsuitable to it ; 

Hie locus exiguus qui sustinet atria Vestae, 
Jam fuit intonsi regia parva Numae. 

In this quarter of the town, you see a part of the 
Cloaca Maxima ; — this is one of the most curious 
and interesting remains of Roman magnificence ; and 
it has given rise to much difference of opinion, with 
respect to the period, when these works were con- 
structed. Ferguson has stated some historic doubts 
in a note to his Roman Republic, which are worth 
attention. " The common sewers were executed at 
a great expense. It was proposed, that they should 
be of sufficient dimensions to admit a waggon loaded 



76 kOME — CLOACA MAXIMA. 

with hay, (Plin. lib. xxxvi. c. 15.) When these 
common sewers came to be obstructed, under the 
republic, the censors contracted to pay a thousand 
talents, or about 193,000 pounds for clearing and 
repairing them. (Dionys. Hal. lib, iii. c. 67.) They 
were again inspected at the accession of Augustus ; 
and clearing their passages is mentioned amongst the 
great works of Agrippa. He is said to have turned 
the course of seven rivers into these subterraneous 
canals, to have made them navigable, and to have ac- 
tually passed in barges under the streets and buildings 
of Rome. These works are still supposed to remain; 
but as they exceed the power and resources of the 
present city to keep them in repair, they are con- 
cealed from the view, except at one or two places. 
They were, in the midst of the Roman greatness, and 
still are reckoned among the wonders of the w^orld ; 
and yet they are said to have been the works of the 
elder Tarquin, a prince whose territory did not ex- 
tend, in any direction, above sixteen miles ; and, on 
this supposition, they must have been made to ac- 
commodate a city that was calculated chiefly for the 
reception of cattle, herdsmen, and banditti. 

" Rude nations sometimes execute works of great 
magnificence, as fortresses and temples, for the pur- 
poses of superstition or war ; but seldom palaces, and 
still more seldom, works of mere convenience and 
cleanliness, in which for the most part, they are long 
defective. It is not unreasonable, therefore, to ques- 



ROME— CLOACA MAXIMA. 77 

tion the authority of tradition, in respect to this 
singular monument of antiquity, which exceeds what 
many well-accommodated cities of modern Europe have 
undertaken for their own conveniency. And as those 
works are still entire, and may continue so for thou- 
sands of years, it may be suspected that they existed 
even prior to the settlement of Romulus, and may 
have been the remains of a more ancient city, on the 
ruins of which the followers of Romulus settled, as the 
Arabs now hut or encamp on the ruins of Palmyra and 
Balbec. Livy owns that the common sewers were 
not accommodated to the plan of Rome, as it was laid 
out in his time ; they were carried in directions across 
the streets, and passed under the buildings of the 
greatest antiquity. This derangement, indeed, he 
imputes to the hasty rebuilding of the city, after its 
destruction by the Gauls ; but haste, it is probable, 
would have determined the people to build on their 
old foundations, or at least not to change them so much 
as to cross the direction of former streets. When the 
only remaining accounts of an ancient monument are 
absurd or incredible, it follows, of course, that the 
real account of the times in which it was erected, is not 
known." 

Such is the note of Ferguson, — -which is well 
entitled to consideration; though it is difficult to 
reconcile the existence of a more ancient city, on the 
site of the city of Romulus, with the entire silence of 
history and tradition ; — unless, indeed, we carry it up 



78 BATHS OF CARACALLA. 

to a period so remote, as would throw an awful 
mystery over the first origin of the Eternal City, — 
connecting it with times, of which there are no more 
traces, than of the Mammoth or the Mastodon. 

22nd. Caracalla's Baths and Palace. The ruins 
of this palace are, next to the Coliseum, the most 
striking proof that remains of the grandeur of the 
Roman buildings. It was here that some of the finest 
pieces of sculpture were discovered ; — the famous 
Torso, the Hercules Famese, the Flora, and the group 
known by the name of the Toro Famese. This 
enormous pile of ruins has rather the appearance of the 
remains of a town, than of a single palace. From 
what is left, we may form some notion of the form 
and proportions of the splendid Cella Solearis, or the 
Hall of Sandals, of which we have such a superb 
description. " Cellam solearem architecti negant 
posse ulla imitatione qua facta est fieri." The baths 
are under ground ; one of the vaulted rooms remains 
entire, and sufficiently indicates how the rest were 
disposed. While the lower orders mixed in the same 
bath, rooms were provided for more fastidious per- 
sons, with bathing-vessels of granite, porphyry, and 
basaltes ; of which many are now in the Museum of 
the Vatican. It is said, that three thousand persons 
might bathe at the same time ; and besides the baths, 
there was every thing that could minister to the gra- 
tification of the people ; — theatres,— promenades, — 
gymnasia — libraries, — and magnificent porticoes, to 



FOUNTAIN OP EGERIA. 79 

protect them from sun and rain ; — where philosophers 
walked, and talked, and taught. Such were the 
baths, or rather the Thermce of the Romans ; — for the 
baths did not include the same superb establishments 
as the Thermae, — which have been well described as 
" Lavacra in modum yrovinciarum extructa" 

Caracalla's Circus, as it is called, rests on very 
doubtful authority. There is a coin of Caracalla's, 
with a circus on the reverse side ; — here is a circus 
that wants an ow T ner ; — how easy the inference then, 
that it must have been Caracalla's! It has suffered so 
little alteration from time, that the whole shape and 
extent, are as distinct as they could have been 1 ,500 
years ago. By the way, the circus of the Romans is 
any thing but a circle. It is a narrow oblong, with 
rounded ends. Up the middle ran the spina, round 
which the chariots turned ; — and it must have required 
very delicate driving. The length of the circus is 
1,630 French feet, the breadth 330. The walls of 
the two me tee are still standing ; — and the obelisk, 
which now stands in the Piazza Navona, once stood in 
the middle of it. 

From hence, I drove to the Fountain of Egeria ; 
which is doubtful again ; and cannot well be recon- 
ciled with the description of Juvenal, as to its locality. 
It is, however, a pretty fountain in a pretty valley ; 
and, if it be the fountain of which Juvenal speaks, 
time has at least realized his wish, and the water is now 
again inclosed, — mridi margine, — ** with a border of 



80 FOUNTAIN OF EGERIA. 

eternal green ; — and the only marble that profanes the 
native stone, is a headless statue, — but not of the 
Nymph Egeria ; for it is evidently of the male sex, 
and was probably intended for the god of the stream, 
which flowed from this spring. I can vouch for the 
excellence of the water, of which I took a copious 
draught. 



81 



CHAPTER IV. 

St. Peter's— .Resemblance between Catholic and Heathen 
Ceremonies — Christmas Day — Baths of Dioclesian 
— Funeral Rites — Palaces — Fountains- — Pantheon 
— Tarpeian Rock — Close of the Year. 

December 23rd. A. LONG morning at St. Peter's ; 
— of which I have hitherto said nothing, though I 
have visited it often. All my expectations were 
answered by the first impression of this sublime 
temple. It may be true, that on first entering, you 
are less struck than might be supposed, with the 
immensity of the building. But this, I believe, is 
entirely the fault of our eyes ; — which are, indeed, 
the " fools of the senses ;" — and we are only taught 
to see, by reason and experience. In St. Peter's, 
so much attention has been paid to preserve the 
relative proportions of all the parts, that for some 
time you do not perceive the largeness of the scale. 
For example, the figures of the Evangelists, which 
decorate the inside of the cupola, do not appear 
to be larger than life, and yet the pen in St. Mark's 
hand is six feet long, from which one may calculate 
their real stature. 

The fact is, that nothing is great or little but by 

G 



82 ST. PETER'S. 

comparison ; and where no familiar object exists to 
assist the judgment, the eye readily accustoms itself to 
any scale. 

Does not Gulliver say, that he lived with the 
Brobdingnagians, without being fully sensible of their 
stupendous size ; but that he was most forcibly im- 
pressed with it, on his return to England, by the 
contrast of his own diminutive countrymen? In 
the same manner it is, when you enter any other 
church, that you are most struck with the prodi- 
gious superiority of St. Peter's, in magnificence and 
grandeur. 

There is, indeed, one exception to the harmony of 
proportion in the inside of St. Peter's. The statue of 
the Apostle himself, which was changed from an old 
Jupiter Capitolinus, by a touch of the Pope's wand ; 
— this famous St. Peter, is seated in an arm-chair, 
on the right hand of the altar, and is scarcely above 
the size of life. 

It was the contrast afforded by this statue, that first 
made me fully sensible of the magnitude of every 
thing else. 

It is to be lamented that Michael Angelo's plan 
was not adhered to, whose intention was, that the 
figure of the church should have been a Greek cross. 
The advantage of this form is, that it exhibits the 
whole structure at one coup d'ceil. In the Latin 
cross accompanied with aisles, — as is the case in St. 
Peter's — the effect is frittered away, and instead of 



st. peter's. 83 

one great whole, there are, in fact, four churches 
under one roof. In spite, however, of all that the 
last architect has done to spoil it, St. Peter's stands 
beyond all comparison, the most magnificent temple 
ever raised by mortal hands to the worship of the 
Supreme Being. It is a spectacle that never tires ; — 
you may visit it every day, and always find something- 
new to admire. Then, — its temperature is delight- 
ful; — after starving in the cold and comfortless 
galleries of the Vatican, it is a luxury indeed to enjoy 
the mild and genial air in the interior of St. Peter's ; 
and I am told, the church is as pleasantly cool in 
summer, as it is comfortably warm in winter. The 
fact is, the walls are so thick, and it is so wholly free 
from damp, that the air within is not affected by 
that without; so that, like a well-built cellar, it 
enjoys an equability of temperature all the year 
round. 

Immediately under the glorious cupola, is the tomb 
of St. Peter, round which a hundred lamps are con- 
stantly burning ; and above, written in large charac- 
ters on the frieze in the inside of the cupola, is this 
obvious, but admirably appropriate, inscription : — 

Tu es Petrus, et super hanc petram ^dificabo 

ECCLESIAM MEAM, ET TIBI DABO CLAVES CELORUM. 

Underneath, is the old church, upon which the present 
temple has been built ; and it is here, that the re- 
mains of the Apostle are said to have been deposited ; 

G 2 



84 ST. PETER'S. 

— though, many learned men have doubted whether 
St. Peter ever was at Rome at all. Here too you 
may read, what no person who has not descended 
into this subterraneous church, probably has read ;— 
the histories of the reigns of Charles III., James 
IV., and Henry IX., — kings of England! — for so 
they are styled, in the royal chronicles, engraved 
on the tombs of the Pretenders ; which, brief as they 
are, contain almost all that is memorable in the 
histories of most princes ; — the dates of their births 
and their deaths. And yet, as if the present tomb 
were not sufficient to commemorate the last of the 
Stuarts, Canova is now employed in working a more 
costly monument to the memory of Cardinal York, — 
alias Henry IX. 

As there is one exception to the otherwise excel- 
lently-arranged proportions in the inside of the church, 
— in the statue of St. Peter, — which is insignificantly 
little ; so, there is also one on the outside, — in the 
height of the front, — which is extravagantly too 
great. Architecture is so much an art of the square 
and the rule, that mere uninstructed common sense 
ought perhaps to have no voice on the subject. But, 
all the world, learned and unlearned, unite in con- 
demning this barbarous front. There is a drawing, 
in the Vatican, of the facade, — as Michael Angelo 
intended it should have been,— which resembles closely 
the portico of the Pantheon. Maderno's frightful 
,ctic rises so high, that, to a spectator on the ground, 



ST. PETER'S. 85 

placed at the further extremity of the piazza of St. 
Peter's, the auxiliary cupolas are quite lost, and the 
great cupola itself is scarcely able to appear above 
its overgrown proportions. St. Peter's must not be 
judged of from engravings. The rage for embel- 
lishing has possessed more or less all the engravers 
of Rome. Piranesi, who had more taste, had per- 
haps less fidelity than any of his brethren. They 
have all endeavoured to correct the defects of Ma- 
derno's front, and have represented it as it never can 
be seen from the ground. So much for Maderno ; — 
whose performances at St. Peter's are thus appre- 
ciated by Forsyth: — " At last," says he, " a wretched 
plasterer came down from Como, to break the 
sacred unity of the master idea, and him we must ex- 
ecrate for the Latin cross, the aisles, the attic, and 
the front." 

The inscription on the front, which bears the name 
of Paul V., is conceived in the true papal taste ; 
and instead of dedicating the church at once to the 
Supreme Being, consecrates it, — In honor em principis 
apostolorum. 

Adjoining St. Peter's is the Vestry ; — a vast pile, 
built at an enormous expense, by Pius VI., who was 
possessed with a rage for embellishing, and perpe- 
tuating his name by inscriptions. Over the principal 
entrance is the following : — 

Quod ad Templi Vaticani ornamentum publica vota flagi- 
tabant, Pius VI., Pontifex maximus fecit, fyc. 



86 st. petek's. 

The Italian wits seldom lose an opportunity of 
venting their satire in epigram, and the following 
distich was soon found written underneath the in- 
scription: — 

Publica ! mentiris ; — Non publica vota fuere, 
Sed tumidi ingenii vota fuere tui. 

Pius the Vlth's passion for recording his own 
glory, in the constant inscription, — Munificentia Pii 
Sexti, — was, perhaps, more wittily satirized, during 
a season of scarcity, when the pagnotta or little roll 
of two baiocchi, answering to our penny roll,— 
which never varies in price, however its size may 
be affected by the price of corn, — had shrunk to a 
most lamentable littleness. One morning, one of 
these Lilliputian loaves was found in the hand of 
Pasquin's statue, with an appended scroll, in large 
characters — 

MUNIFICENTIA PII SEXTI. 

24th. Another morning at St. Peter's. Nothing 
can be more grand than the approach to the church. 
Instead of being cooped up like our own St. Paul's, 
it forms the back-ground of a noble and spacious 
amphitheatre, formed by a spendid colonnade of a 
quadruple range of pillars. In the middle of this 
amphitheatre stands the Egyptian obelisk, brought to 
Rome by Caligula. This curious monument of the 
history of mankind adds great interest to the scene. 
Caligula brought it from Egypt ; and, after purifying 



ST. PETER'S. 87 

it from the abominations of Egyptian superstition, 

dedicated it with this inscription, which still remains : — 

Divo Csesari Divi Julii F. Augusto 
Ti. Csssari Divi Augusti F. Augusto 
Sacrum. 

But all things in this world seem made for change : — 
the same obelisk has undergone fresh purifications, 
to cleanse it from the heathen abominations ; and it 
is now consecrated to Christianity. 

The following are the inscriptions on the four 
sides of its base : — 

Sixtus V. Pont : Max : Sixtus V. Pont : Max : 

Cruci invictse Obeliscum Vaticanum 

Obeliscum Vaticanum Dis gentium 

Ab impura superstitione Impio cultu dicatum 

Expiatum, justius Ad apostolorum limina 

Et felicius consecravit Operoso labore transtulit 

Anno MDLXXXVI, Pont. II. Anno MDLXXXVI. 

Ecce Crux Domini Christus vincit 

Fugite Christus regnat 

Partes adversse Christus imperat 

Vicit Leo Christus ab omni malo 

De tribu Judae Plebem suam 

Defendat. 

The fountains are magnificent. Christina, Queen 
of Sweden, thought they were made to play in 
honour of her visit, and begged they might cease ; 
— at least so says the guide, — but this is the kind of 
story, which is told of every royal head down to 



88 ST. PETER'S. 

Prince Leboo ; who, when he first entered London, 
thought it was lighted up, as a particular compliment 
to him. 

In giving the comparative admeasurements of St. 
Peter's and St. Paul's, Eustace seems to have been 
resolved, at all events, to exalt the superiority of the 
Catholic church, above her heretical daughter. I 
know not from whence he took his dimensions; 
but they do not accord with those on the cupola of 
St. Peter's ; which are given in every measure of 
Europe. The St. Paul's mark too on the pavement 
in the inside of the church —where the lengths of 
the principal cathedrals in Europe are distinguished — 
ought to have shewn him at once how much he was 
mistaken, in giving to St. Peter's 200 feet more in 
length, than St. Paul's. 

Eustace's dimensions are as follow ; — where he 
seems to have comprised the walls and portico of 
St. Peter's, and taken only the clear inside length of 
St. Paul's:— 

St. Peter's. St. Paul's. 

Feet. Feet. 

700 Length 500 

500 Transept 250 

440 Height 340 

90 Breadth of the Nave 60 

154 Height of the Nave 120 

Now the admeasurement of St. Peter's, taken 
from the record of the cupola, is very different ; and 



ST. PETER'S 89 

the dimensions of St. Paul's, as given in the descrip- 
tions of that church, still less agree with Eustace. 

The account taken from these sources will stand 
thus : — 

St. Peter's. St. Paul's. 

Feet. Feet. 

673 .... Extreme length 510 

444 Transept 282 

448 .... Height to the top of the Cross outside. . . . 404 

88 .... Breadth of the Nave, 40; with the aisles, 107 

146 .... Height of the Nave 100 

Such things are of little importance; but when 
one finds the admeasurement of the " accurate Eustace" 
quoted and followed by succeeding travellers, it is 
time to ascertain, whether he be accurate, or not ; 
though this may not be so easily done with respect 
to St. Peter's ; for it is remarkable, that scarcely any 
two books agree in the statement of its dimensions. 

I was surprised to find on the bronze gates of the 
church, amongst the bas-relief representations of 
scriptural subjects, my old friends, — the Eagle and 
Ganymede, — and a very spirited, though not over- 
decent, group of Leda and her Swan. 

Some traces of the old heathen superstitions are 
indeed constantly peeping out from under their 
Catholic disguises. I believe it is Warburton who 
says, that to see variety in human nature, one must 
go farther than Europe, — the tour of which resembles 
the entertainment given to Pompey. There were 
many dishes, and a seeming variety, but when he 



90 ST. PETER'S. 

examined them closely, he found them all made out 
of one hog ; — nothing but pork,— -differently disguised. 
1 believe the remark might be extended farther. 
Human nature seems alike in all ages and countries. 
" We cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall 
relish of it." If any thing could have improved the 
tree, one would have supposed it must have l)orne 
better fruit by being grafted with Christianity ; but, 
in many particulars, — at least as far as Italy is con- 
cerned, — all the change produced, has been a mere 
change of name. For instance, amongst the antiqui- 
ties of Rome, you are shewn the house, or, as it is 
called, the Temple of Romulus; — which you are 
told was built round the very house in which he lived, 
and has been fortified and repaired ever since. Need 
we go further to seek for the prototype of the tale of 
Loretto ? — though, in this instance, it must be con- 
fessed, that the moderns have " bettered the instruction." 
What is the modern worshipping of saints and images, 
but a revival of the old adoration paid to heroes and 
demigods ; — or what the Nuns, with their vows of 
celibacy, but a new edition of the Vestal Virgins ? — 
auctiores certainly, but whether emendatiores or no, — 
I will not undertake to determine. Wherever we 
turn indeed, " all is old, and nothing new." What are 
the tales we hear of images of the Virgin falling 
from Heaven, but a repetition of the old fable of the 
Palladium; — which the ancients assure us was de- 
rived from the same celestial manufactory ? Instead 



ST. PETER'S. 91 

of tutelary gods, — we find guardian angels ; — and the 
canonization of a saint, is but another term for the 
apotheosis of a hero. The processions * are closely 
copied from ancient patterns ; and the lustral water 
and the incense of the Heathen Temple remain, without 
any alteration, in the holy water and the censer of the 
Catholic Church. 

It was this spirit of imitation, seeking to continue 
the Pontifex of the temple, in the Priest of the church, 
which perhaps led to the doctrine of transubstantiation, 
and the daily sacrifice of the mass, — a ceremony 
which seems to be copied from the victims and blood- 
offerings of the heathen ritual, and little consistent 
with that religion which was founded upon the aboli- 
tion of all sacrifices, — by the offering up of the great 
Atonement, as a full and complete expiation, — once 
for all, — for the sins of the whole world. Again ; — 
the mysterious ceremonial of Isis seems to have been 
revived in the indecent emblems, presented by 
women, as votive offerings at the shrine of S. Cosmo : 
nay, some would trace the Pope himself, with his 

* Middleton quotes an account of a pagan procession from 
Apuleius, which, as he says, " might pass quite as well for the 
description of a popish one" — Antistites sacrorum candido 
linteamine, — ad usque vestigia strictim injecti. Deum profere- 
bant insignes exuvias, quorum primus lucernam praemicantem 
claro porrigebat lumine, &c. — Eas amoenus lectissimse juven- 
tutis, veste nivea praenitens sequebatur chorus, carmen venustum 
iterantes. Magnus praeterea sexus utriusquenumerus, lucernis, 
tsedis, cereis. 



92 st. peter's. 

triple-crown on his head, and the keys of heaven and 
hell in his pocket, — -to our old acquaintance Cerberus, 
with his three heads, who kept guard as the custos 
of Tartarus and Elysium. 

Be this as it may, — the pun of Swift is completely 
realized. The very same piece of brass, which the 
old Romans adored, now, with a new head on its 
shoulders, — like an old friend with a new face, — is 
worshipped with equal devotion by the modern Italians ; 
— and Jupiter appears again, with as little change of 
name as of materials, in the character of the Jew Peter, 
And, as if they wished to make theresemblance as 
perfect as possible, they have, in imitation of the — 

Centum aras posuit, vigilemque sacraverat ignem, — 

of his pagan prototype, surrounded the tomb of 
the Apostle with a hundred ever-burning lights. It 
is really surprising to see with what apparent fer- 
vour of devotion, all ranks, and ages, and sexes, 
kneel to, and kiss the toe of, this brazen image. 
They rub it against their foreheads, and press it 
against their lips, with the most reverential piety. 
I have sat by the hour to see the crowds of 
people, who flock in to perform this ceremony, — 
waiting for their turn to kiss; — and yet the Ca- 
tholic would laugh at the pious Mussulman, who 
performs a pilgrimage to Mecca, to wash the holy 
pavement, and kiss the black stone of the Caaba ; — 
which, like his own St. Peter, is also a relic of 
heathenism. Alas, poor human nature! — The Ca- 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 93 

tholic laughs at the Mussulman, — we do not scruple 
to laugh at the Catholic, — the Deist laughs at us, — 
and the Atheist laughs at all. What is truth ? We 
must wait for an answer. But though all must — wait 
the great teacher death, — to decide between them; 
let us repose our hopes and fears with humble confi- 
dence, in the promises of Christianity, — not as it 
appears disfigured and disguised at Rome, — but as 
it is written and recorded in that sacred volume, — - 
which in the words of Locke, has " God for its author, 
salvation for its end, and truth without any mixture 
of error for its matter." 

25th. Christmas day. A grand ceremony in the 
the church of S. Maria Maggiore ; — where mass was 
performed before the pope and the cardinals. The 
night preceding this day of Christian rejoicing, is 
passed in the exercises of religion. Every thing is in 
motion ; — processions of priests, and pilgrims, and 
women fill the streets ; — the world of fashion follows 
in the same track ; — while the peasantry from the 
country, arrayed in their holiday clothing, which, 
among the women particularly, is very showy and 
splendid, with much of scarlet and gold, flock into 
Rome ; — and the churches brilliantly lighted up, are 
crowded to excess during the whole of the night. 

It may perhaps be doubted, whether these mid- 
night meetings are not often perverted to less holy 
purposes; — but, the great majority of those who 
attend seem to be animated by a sincere and enthu- 



94< CHRISTMAS CEREMONIES. 

siastic spirit of devotion. It is difficult for a Protes- 
tant so far to overcome the prejudices of his educa- 
tion, as not to feel a sentiment of disgust at the the- 
atrical representations which are got up to comme- 
morate the Nativity. Some show of the kind is pre- 
pared at all the churches, and the people flock from 
one to the other, to gaze, admire, and leave their 
Christmas offerings. The most popular and attrac- 
tive spectacle is at the Araceli church ; — for the 
Bambino there is the production of a miracle, and is 
said to have been dropped from heaven. Part of the 
church is fitted up like a theatre, with canvass scenes, 
canvass clouds, and canvass figures of the Virgin, — 
the shepherds, — the wise men, — the ox, — and the ass ; 
— all carefully painted with due attention to stage 
effect. The miraculous Bambino, splendidly ac- 
coutred, is placed in the centre of the stage, which is 
brilliantly illuminated, and offerings of fruit and nose- 
gays appear in great profusion. 

This disposition to represent every thing heavenly 
by sensible images, is the leading feature of the Ro- 
mish religion ; and the Roman Catholics would have 
us believe, that the distinction between the sign and 
the thing signified is never lost sight of. This, 
I fear, is only true of the enlightened few ; — between 
whom, to whatever sect or religion they may belong, 
there is but little real difference of opinion. For, 
even amongst the old heathens, the initiated were 
taught the existence of one Almighty Spirit, though 



BATHS OF DIOCLESIAN. 95 

this doctrine was considered too sublime for the 
vulgar ; whose grosser feelings were thought to re- 
quire the interposition of some visible object of ado- 
ration. The Roman Catholic priests seem to take 
the same view of human nature at present. 

26th. The Baths of Dioclesian. This vast pile 
of building, situated on the Quirinal Hill, has not 
been buried by the same accumulation of rubbish 
that has overwhelmed most of the ancient remains. 
The whole of this establishment must have occupied 
a space of at least 400 yards square. All the rest of 
the baths have been entirely dismantled of their mag- 
nificent columns and splendid marbles ; but the great 
hall of these, the Pinacotheca, as it was called, — has 
been converted into a church by Michael Angelo ; 
and the superb granite columns, each hewn out of a 
single block, 43 feet in height, still remain as they 
stood in the days of Dioclesian ; supporting the an- 
cient entablature, which is very rich, and in the 
highest preservation. 

This magnificent hall is now the church of $. Ma- 
ria degli Angeli ; — the work of Michael Angelo. 
The form of the church is the Greek cross ; so much 
more favourable than the Latin, for displaying at one 
coup ftozil all the grandeur of the building. This 
church shews what St. Peter's would have been, if 
Michael Angelo's plan had been followed ; and it is 
by far the finest church in Rome, — except St. Peter's, 
which must always be incomparable. 



96 FUNERAL CEREMONIES. 

In this church is buried Salvator Rosa. 

In my way home I met a funeral ceremony. A 
crucifix hung with black, followed by a train of 
priests, with lighted tapers in their hands, headed 
the procession. Then came a troop of figures, 
dressed in white robes, with their faces covered with 
masks of the same materials. The bier followed ; — 
on which lay the corpse of a young woman, arrayed 
in all the ornaments of dress, with her face exposed, 
where the bloom of life yet lingered. The members 
of different fraternities followed the bier — dressed in 
the robes of their orders — and all masked. They 
carried lighted tapers in their hands, and chanted out 
prayers in a sort of mumbling recitative. I followed 
the train to the church, for I had doubts whether the 
beautiful figure I had seen on the bier, was not a 
figure of wax ; — but I was soon convinced it was 
indeed the corpse of a fellow-creature ; — cut off in the 
pride and bloom of youthful maiden beauty. Such is 
the Italian mode of conducting the last scene of the 
tragi-comedy of life. As soon as a person dies, the 
relations leave the house, and fly to bury themselves 
and their griefs in some other retirement. The care of 
the funeral devolves on one of the fraternities, which 
are associated for this purpose in every parish. These 
are dressed in a sort of domino, and hood ; which, 
having holes for the eyes, answers the purpose of a 
mask, and completely conceals the face. The funeral 
of the very poorest is thus conducted, with quite as 



FUNERAL CEREMONIES. 97 

much ceremony as need be. This is perhaps a 
better system than our own, where the relatives are 
exhibited as a spectacle to impertinent curiosity, 
while, from feelings of duty, they follow to the grave 
the remains of those they loved. But, ours is 
surely an unphilosophical view of the subject. It 
looks as if we were materialists, and considered the 
cold clod, as the sole remains of the object of our 
affection. The Italians reason better, and perhaps 
feel as much as ourselves, when they regard the 
body, — deprived of the soul that animated and the 
mind that informed it, — as no more a part of the de- 
parted spirit, than the clothes which it has also left 
behind. The ultimate disposal of the body is perhaps 
conducted here with too much of that spirit, which 
would disregard all claims that this mortal husk 
can have to our attention. As soon as the funeral 
service is concluded, the corpse is stripped, and con- 
signed to those who have the care of the interment. 
There are large vaults, underneath the churches, for 
the reception of the dead. Those, who can afford it, 
are put into a wooden shell, before they are cast into 
one of these Golgothas ; — but, the great mass are 
tossed in without a rag to cover them. When one 
of these caverns is full, it is bricked up ; and, after 
fifty years, it is opened again, and the bones are re- 
moved to other places, prepared for their reception. 
So much for the last scene of the drama of life ; — 
with respect to the first act, — our own conduct of it 

H 



98 PALACES. 

is certainly more natural. Here they swathe and 
swaddle their children, till the poor urchins look like 
Egyptian mummies. To this frightful custom, one 
may attribute the want of strength and symmetry of 
the men, which is sufficiently remarkable. 

27th. Made a tour of palaces ; — splendid and 
useless. The owners live in a few obscure rooms, 
and the magnificent galleries are deserted. One of 
the most superb saloons is at the Colonna Palace. — 
A fine picture of St. John preaching in the Wilder- 
ness, by S. Rosa. In another wing is poor Beatrice 
Cenci, by Guido ; — taken the night before her execu- 
tion. It is a charming countenance ; — full of sweet- 
ness, innocence, and resignation. Her step-mother 
hangs near her, by whose counsel, and that of her 
confessor, she was instigated to prevent an incest, 
by the " sacrifice" of her father ; — but that, which 
she thought a sacrifice, was converted by her enemies 
into a " murder ;" — and she lost her head, by the 
hand of the executioner. 

Doria Palace. Large collection of pictures ; — 
Gaspar Poussin's green landscapes have no charms 
for me. The fact seems to be, that the delightful 
green of nature cannot be represented in a picture. 
Our own Glover has perhaps made the greatest 
possible exertions to surmount the difficulty, and 
give with fidelity the real colours of Nature ; — but 
I believe the beauty of his pictures is in an inverse 
ratio to their fidelity; — and his failure affords an 



PALACES. 99 

additional proof, that Nature must be stripped of 
her green livery, and dressed in the browns of the 
painters, or confined to her own autumnal tints, in 
order to be transferred to the canvass. Cain and 
Abel, by Salvator ; — Ruben's picture of his wife ; — 
a Magdalen, by Murillo ; — and a superb landscape, 
by Claude ; — are all excellent in their way. 

Corsini Palace. Here too is an excellent collection 
of pictures. An Ecce Homo, by Guercino ; — Pro- 
metheus, by Salvator Rosa ; — Herodias, by Guido ; — 
and Susannah, by Domenichino; — are all super- 
eminently good. This last is an exquisite picture ; 
but, it is in fact, one of the nymphs, transplanted 
from his famous Chace of Diana, with the beauties 
a little heightened and embellished. 

Here you see an old senatorial chair, which is a curi- 
ous sample of antiquity ; and resembles closely that 
low, round-backed chair, with a triangular seat, which 
we often see occupying a chimney-corner in England. 

Close to the Corsini Palace, is the Casino Fame- 
sine. Here is the famous Galatea of Raphael in 
fresco ; — but the more I see of fresco, the more I 
am inclined to believe, that to paint in fresco is 
to throw away time and labour. The ceilings are 
covered with the history of Cupid and Psyche, 
painted from the designs of Raphael, by his scholars ; 
— and, on one of the walls, is preserved a spirited 
sketch of a head in crayons, by Michael Angelo. 

Sciarra Palace. The collection small but good. 

H 2 



100 MONTE CAVALLO. 

A portrait by Raphael ; — Titian's Family, by him- 
self;— and Modesty and Vanity, by Leonardo da 
Vinci, are the most striking pictures. Da Vinci 
seems to have been desperately enamoured of the 
smile which he has given to Vanity ; — some traces of 
which will be found in almost all the female faces 
that he has painted. I ought not to forget two 
beautiful Magdalens, by Guido, standing opposite to 
each other, at full length, in the innermost chamber. 

28th. Another round of palaces. In the Spada, 
there are some fine landscapes, by Salvator ; but 
the great curiosity here, is the colossal statue of 
Pompey ; which is said to be the very statue, at the 
base of which, — " Great Caesar fell ;" — though the 
objection to a naked heroic statue, as the represen- 
tative of a Roman senator, is, perhaps, fatal to its 
identity; — and then, the holding the globe in his 
hand, is not in republican taste ; — this action speaks 
the language of a master of the world, and brings 
the statue down to the days of the empire. But this 
does not solve the difficulty ; and if we determine 
that it cannot be Pompey, we shall be again at a 
loss to find an owner for it amongst the emperors. 

Palace of the Pope. The residence of the Pope 
is on Monte Cavallo ; — an immense pile of building; 
but the apartments of the Pope occupy a very small 
part of it. The gardens are delicious, with shady 
evergreen walks, that must be delightful in summer, 
as affording a complete protection against the sun. 
The whole circuit of the gardens is at least a mile. 



MONTE CAVALLO. 101 

The wing of the palace through which we were 
shewn, had been fitted up for the King of Rome ;— 
" Sic vos 7ion vobis" — and the furniture does credit 
to the taste and skill of Roman upholsterers. It is 
now set apart for the reception of the Emperor of 
Austria. The pictures are good. The Annunciation, 
by Guido, in the chapel, is in the sweetest style of 
this sweet painter ; — but Guido's Mary, sweet as she 
is, will never do, after the Mary of Raphael ; — and 
then, the eternal blue mantle, in which Guido wraps 
his females, reminds one of the favourite " sky-blue 
attitude" of lady Pentweazle. A Resurrection, by 
Vandyke, affords ample proof that his excellence was 
not limited to portraits. 

In the square before the palace, are the marble 
horses with their attendant figures, which some sup- 
pose to be Castor and Pollux ; — while others tell you, 
that the one is a copy from the other, and that it is 
the representation of Alexander and Bucephalus. 
When there is so little to fix a story, it is more 
reasonable to suppose, that no story was intended. 

If we may believe the inscriptions, which are as 
old as Constantine, in whose baths these statues 
were found, they are the work of Phidias and 
Praxiteles. They are full of spirit and expression ;— 
but, are not the men out of proportion? They 
appear better able to carry the horses, than the 
horses them. The Egyptian obelisk, which is placed 
between them, was brought hither, at an enormous 



102 PALACES. 

expense, by Pius VI., from the mausoleum of 
Augustus ; and as this was done at a time, when the 
poor of Rome were suffering very much from distress, 
the following sentence, taken from Scripture, was 
placarded underneath the obelisk : 

" Di che queste pietre divengano pani." 

This was surely mal-d-propos ; for Pius VI. could 
not well have adopted a better mode of supplying 
the poor with bread, than by furnishing them with 
employment. 

Rospigliosi Palace. Here is the famous Aurora 
of Guido. There are no traces to confine the horses 
to the carriage. Apollo has the reins in one hand, 
and is laying fast hold of the back of the car with 
the other ; as well he may, — to prevent the horses 
dragging him from his seat. 

Barberini Palace. This is the residence of the 
Ex-King and Queen of Spain, and the Prince of the 
Peace ; whose influence is as omnipotent here, as in 
the palace of the Escurial. Large collection of 
pictures. But let the description of one suffice ; — 
Joseph and Potiphar's wife, — the most voluptuous of 
pictures. The expression of intense passion on the 
countenance of the female, is wonderful, and every 
limb is full of meaning ; " there 's language in the 
eye, the cheek, the lip, — nay, the foot speaks ;" — and 
such a foot! She has, in her struggles to detain 
Joseph, planted one of her naked feet upon his, and 



FOUNTAINS — PANTHEON. 103 

the painter has contrived to exhibit, in the tumultuous 
flush of her figure, the thrilling sensation communi- 
cated by this casual contact. 

29th. Amongst the most striking ornaments of 
Rome, are the fountains ; — not only for the archi- 
tectural designs that embellish them, but for the 
prodigality of water, which they pour out in all parts 
of the town. The effect of these, in summer, must be 
delightfully refreshing, from the sensations of cool- 
ness which running water always communicates. 
The fountain of Trevi is, perhaps, the most magni- 
ficent. — It is here that Corinne came, to enjoy her 
own contemplations by moon-light, when she was 
suddenly startled by seeing the reflection of Oswald 
in the water. I doubt whether this could have hap- 
pened ; — it is certainly a glorious scene by moon-light, 
— but the basin of water is always in a ruffled, troubled 
state, from the cascades that tumble into it ; which 
prevent it from reflecting any object distinctly. 

The design of the fountain of Acqua Felice is 
admirable. Moses is striking the rock in the desert, 
and the water obeys his wand. The figure of Moses 
is colossal, and very spirited ; — and, if ever a colossal 
statue can be rendered pleasing, it is in some such 
situation as this. 

30th. A morning in the Pantheon. — Whoever 
comes to the Pantheon, with expectations excited 
by engravings, will most assuredly be disappointed ; 
— and yet, it is a noble portico ; perhaps too grand 



10* PANTHEON, 



for the temple, to which it leads. This is the most 
perfect of all the remains of antiquity. Formerly 
the temple of all the gods, it is now consecrated to 
all "the Saints ;"— and the great and invisihle Spirit, 
—the source of all things,— is, perhaps, as little in the 
contemplation of the modern, as of the ancient wor- 
shippers of the Pantheon. 

The open sky-light, communicating at once with 
the glorious firmament, and letting in a portion of 
the great vault of the heavens, produces a sublime 
effect. It is as if it were the eye of the Divinity,— 
imparting light and life,— and penetrating the most 
secret thoughts of those that repair to his altar. 
The Pantheon has been stripped of every thing that 
could be taken away, to furnish materials for the 
embellishment of St. Peter's; but it has been less 
deformed by what has been subtracted, than by the 
frightful addition of two ugly towers-the work of 
Bernini, under the auspices of Urban VIII. It is 
now made the receptacle of monuments to those 
who have deserved well of.their country, and con- 
tributed to sustain the reputation of Italy*. Raphael's 

•Most of these have been supplied by the chisel, or the 
purse of Canova;_whose enthusiasm for the arts, and whose 
munificent patronage of younger artists, are too well known 
to need any praise from me. If I have presumed to question 
the supremacy of his merit as a sculptor, it is impossible not to 
admire the man, 

Thcrs seems to be something in the air of Rome -hat inspi.c. 



TARPEIAN ROCK, 



105 



bust is here, with the epitaph of Cardinal Bembo, 
of which Pope has availed himself so fully, in his 
Epitaph on Kneller ; 

Ille est hie Raphael, timuit quo sospite, vinci 
Rerum magna Parens, et moriente mori. 

In my way from the Pantheon, to explore the 
site of the Tarpeian Rock, I passed through the 
region of the Jews ; — who are huddled together in 
one quarter of the town, and allowed to reside no 
where else. Here too, they are locked up every 
night; but, — " suffering is the badge of all their 
tribe." In spite of these strict measures of con- 
finement, which, one would suppose, must tend still 
more to isolate the race, I [thought the features of 
these Jews did not exhibit so strongly that peculiar 
and distinctive physiognomy, which is so striking in 

her artists with a portion of the old Ptoman feeling. Thor- 
waldson, on being applied to by the King of Prussia, to execute 
some considerable work, objected that there was at that time in 
Rome an artist of great merit, one of his majesty's own sub- 
jects, — Shadoff, since distinguished by his Spinning Girl,— who 
he humbly conceived would be a fitter object for the King's 
patronage. 

In the same taste, Camuccini purchased for fifty louis a 
picture, which a former pupil had brought to him as the first 
fruits of his pencil ; Camuccini then bade him take his picture 
to the Pope, knowing that he could not have afforded to pre- 
sent it unpaid for. The consequence of the present was, an 
appointment, and subsequent patronage,-=-in short, the making 
of his pupil's fortune. 



106 CATACOMBS. 

England, where they have every facility of crossing 
the breed. 

It is not easy to determine the exact site of the 
Tarpeian Rock; — or, at least, of that part of it 
from whence criminals were flung ; — and, when you 
have ascertained the spot, as nearly as it can be 
done, you will be more disappointed than by any 
thing else in Rome. Where shall we find any traces 
of Seneca's description of it? " Stat moles abscissa in 
prqfundum, frequentibus exasperata saxis, qu& aut 
elidant corpus, aut de integro gravius impellant ; in- 
horrent scopulis enascentibus latera, et immense alti- 
tudinis aspectus" There is absolutely nothing at all 
of all this, — the only precipice that remains, is one 
of about thirty feet, from the point of a wall, where 
you might leap down on the dung-mixen in the yard 
below, without any fear of broken bones. 

It is not surprising, that the great wreck of old 
Rome should have so destroyed the features of the 
Capitoline Hill. Besides, the character of the ground 
below is completely changed; and the Campus Martins, 
which was at the foot of the Tarpeian Rock, — into 
which the mangled bodies fell, — is now, like the rock 
itself, covered with the modern town. 

From hence we drove to the Catacombs. These 
dreary, and deserted regions, were once filled with 
thousands of martyrs. The ecclesiastical writers say 
that 170,000 were buried here ; and it is not in- 
credible ; for the extent of these caverns is six miles. 



CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 



107 



But the Catacombs are now empty ; the bones have 
been carried all over Christendom, for the edi- 
fication of the pious ; — and there must have been 
enough, in this mine of martyrs, to furnish relics to 
the whole world. 

31st. On this last day of the year, there was a 
grand ceremony at the church of the Jesuits ; — to 
sing out the old year, — to offer up thanksgivings 
for all past blessings, — and to solicit a renewal of 
them ill the year to come. The crowd was immense ; 
and the ceremony very impressive. There is a prin- 
ciple of equality in Catholic congregations, more con- 
sonant with the spirit of that religion which teaches 
that God is no respecter of persons, than the practice 
which prevails in our own church ; — where the 
greatest distinction is made between the accom- 
modations of the rich and the poor. The former 
are carefully separated from the contamination of 
the latter, into pews ; where every thing is provided 
that luxury can suggest, to render the postures of 
public worship as little inconvenient as possible. In 
the Catholic congregations, there are no such invi- 
dious distinctions ; — the rich and the poor kneel down 
together, on the same marble floor ; — as children of 
the same Parent, — to ask the same blessings, from 
their common Benefactor. All the congregation 
joined in the chant of thanksgiving, and I was deeply 
impressed by the touching solemnity of the ceremony . 
There is always something affecting in a large con- 



108 CLOSE OF THE YEAR, 

course of people, participating in the same emotion ; 
— the feeling is heightened by the contagion of 
sympathy, and wound up to enthusiasm by the in- 
fluence of numbers. 

And so much for the year 1817. It has been to 
me, like most of its predecessors, — " woven of a 
mingled yarn ;" — much time lost in unavailing hope, 
and more saddened with the gloom of disappointment. 
For the Future : — I leave it with humble confidence 
to the great Disposer of all things, in whose hands are 
the issues of life and death. 



109 



CHAPTER IV. 

New Year's Day — The Pope's Chapel — Italian 
Women — Michael Angelo — Modern Capitol — Ma- 
mertine Prisons — Canova — Thorwaldson — Vatican 
— Sculpture — Paintings. 

January 1st, 1818. 1 HE new year opened with 
a dark and dreary morning, — foreboding disaster and 
disappointment; — but, " we defy augury!" 

Went to mass in the private chapel of the Pope, 
in his palace on Monte Cavallo. The most striking 
trait in the appearance of the venerable Pius VII., is 
his black hair, wholly unmixed with grey. There is 
a piety and sincerity in his demeanour that conciliate 
respect, in spite of the mummery that surrounds him. 

But, let the character of the Pope be what it may, 
the part he is called upon to act must identify him 
with Lord Peter; — of whom I was reminded in- 
cessantly ; particularly when the priest, who preached, 
previously to the delivery of his sermon, prostrated 
himself at the Pontiffs feet, to kiss the papal 
slipper.* 

* Eustace endeavours to furnish at once a reason and an ex- 
cuse for this strange ceremonial, by explaining, that it is to the 
Cross, embroidered on the slipper, that this homage is really 



110 THE POPE'S CHAPEL. 

It would be difficult to imagine such a scene as the 
Pope's chapel — 

" Never I ween 
" In any body's recollection, 
" Was such a party seen 

" For genuflection." 

If it were literally represented in a Protestant 
country, it would be regarded as a burlesque ; as 
far beyond nature, as King Arthur, with his cour- 
tiers Doodle and Noodle ; — but Noodle and Doodle, 
with all their bowing and head-shaking, would 
cease to be ridiculous in the Pope's chapel. Just 
two such personages were in attendance upon the 
Pope, during the whole of the ceremony, to arrange 
the different changes in the order of his petticoats, and 
to take off and put on his tiara, as the service re- 
quired ; — for, it would be contrary to all etiquette, 
that the Pope should do any thing for himself ; and he 

paid. But we are naturally led to inquire, what business the 
Cross has in such a situation. 

The indefatigable Middleton, who traces up every popish cus- 
tom to some heathen original, contends that this observance 
was copied from the example of Caligula; who, according to 
Seneca, introduced this Persian fashion ; and, to the indigna- 
tion of all Rome, presented his foot to be kissed ; — " absoluto et 
gratias agenti porrexit osculandum sinistrum pedem" The 
excuse which Caligula's friends made for him is curious enough ; 
— and thoughnot quite so good as Eustace's, is perhaps not very 
unlike it :— ■" Qui excusant, negantid insolentice causa factum; 
aiunt Socculum auratum, imo aureum, margaritis distinctum 
ostendere eum voluisse" Senec. de Benef. 1. 2. 12. 



THE POPE'S CHAPEL. Ill 

eannot even blow his nose, without the help of one 
of his attendant cardinals. 

The whole of the conclave were present, each sup- 
ported by his train-bearer, or tail-twister : — and this 
office is no sinecure ; for on some occasions, the train 
of Lord knows how many ells, is to be spread out 
like a peacock's tail, and, at others, it is to be 
twisted up as close as a cart-horse's ; in order that 
their Eminences may take the corner under their arms, 
and move about at their pleasure. 

Cardinal * * sat among the rest — sleek and sly, — 
looking like a wolf in sheep's clothing. He was con- 
spicuous in the mummery of his part, and so expert in 
the posture exercise, that he might act as Flugel- 
man to the whole corps of cardinals. There was 
something in his demeanour, which, like an over- 
acted part, excited observation ; — a lurking devil in 
his eye, that seemed to peep out in spite of him. 

Pomp and mummery, in a civil or military dress, 
are fatiguing and ridiculous ; — but, when associ- 
ated with religion, they become disgusting. What 
a strange idea of the Deity must have first suggested 
this homage of postures and prostrations. If a Chi- 
nese had been present, he might well have concluded, 
that the Pope was the God of this strange worship ; — 
and indeed I doubt, whether on this occasion, the 
thoughts of many were elevated nearer to heaven, 
than the popedom. But I repeat, that it is impossible 
not to feel respect for the venerable Pius. The man 



112 THE POPE'S CHAPEL. 

who is in earnest, — especially in religion, — can never 
be an object of ridicule ; and far be it from me to 
judge another man's servant, or condemn the fashion 
of my neighbour's piety, in whatever shape it may 
dress itself. But, without ridiculing piety, the eccen- 
tricities and perversities of human nature have ever 
been fair game ; and I hope we may laugh at each 
other's absurdities, without giving offence, and with 
common benefit to all parties. 

Consalvi, the Pope's prime minister; — a shrewd, 
intelligent, well-looking man. — As he passed out of 
chapel, a well-dressed person in the court-yard, threw 
himself upon his knees before him, and Consalvi, as 
if he thought the man had some petition to present, 
advanced towards him ; but, when he found that 
his only object was to kiss his hand, he put him aside ; 
being, as it is said, very impatient of all such public 
demonstrations of homage. 

In the evening, we went to a party at Torlonia's, 
the banker ; — or as he now is, — the Duke of Brac- 
ciano. A suite of rooms was thrown open, in which a 
mob of people wandered about, without object or 
amusement. Such a scene could afford little insight 
into Italian manners, even if the mob were com- 
posed exclusively of Italians — but, at present, two- 
thirds at least of the company at every party, are 
English. Rooms hot; — Music miserable; — as to 
music, I have heard nothing tolerable, vocal or in- 
strumental, since I left England. 



ITALIAN WOMEN. 113 

January 2nd. It is time to record my impres- 
sions of the manners, and general appearance of 
the people ; — but, I fear, I have but little to record. 
All the-T';ix^ knows that the Italians are a polite 
and civil people, and universally courteous and ob- 
liging to strangers. The education of the men is 
much neglected; and, I believe it would not be 
difficult to find a Roman prince who could neither 
read nor write ;• — nor is it surprising, where there are 
no public objects of ambition to stimulate improve- 
ment, that the mere desire of knowledge should be 
insufficient to counteract the indolence so natural to 
man. The women are in the grandest style of beauty. 
The general character of their figure is the majes- 
tic ; — they move about with the inceding tread of 
Juno. The physiognomy of the Italian woman bears 
the stamp of the most lively sensibility, and explains 
her character at a glance. Voluptuousness is written 
in every feature ; but, it is that serious and enthusiastic 
expression of passion, — the farthest removed from 
frivolity, — which promises as much constancy, as 
ardour ; and to which Love is — not the capricious 
trifling gallantry of an hour of idleness — but the 
serious and sole occupation of life. There is an ex- 
pression of energy, and sublimity, which bespeaks a 
firmness of soul, and elevation of purpose, equal to 
all trials ; — but this expression is too often mingled 
with a look of ferocity, that is very repulsive. Black 
hair, and black sparkling eyes, with dark olive com- 

i 



1T4 S1STINE CHAPEL — MICHAEL ANGELO. 

plexions, are the common characteristics of Italian 

physiognomy. A blonde is a rarity ; — the black eye, 

however, is not always bright and sparkling ; it is 

sometimes set off with the soft melting languishment 

peculiar to its rival blue, and this, by removing all 

expression of fierceness, takes away every thing 

that interferes with the bewitching fascination of an 

Italian beauty. Much has been said of the laxity of 

their morals ;—- however this be, there is so much 

attention paid to external decorum, that the Ruffiano 

is an officer in general use, throughout Italy, to 

arrange preliminaries, which in other places would 

not require any intermediate negotiation. It is, I 

believe, to the lying pretensions of these Mercuries, 

who have the impudence to offer themselves as the 

bearers of proposals to any woman, of any rank, 

that erroneous impressions have been received on 

this subject ; — as if it were possible to believe, that 

any woman, above the condition of absolute want, 

would surrender at discretion to the offers of a 

stranger: Still, however, the very lies of a Ruffiano 

must have some foundation ; and indeed the existence 

of such a degrading profession is a sufficient evidence 

of a lamentable state of society. 

January 3rd. Sat an hour in the Sistine Chapel, 
— before Michael Angelo's Last Judgment. The 
choice of the subject shews the nature of his genius, 
which nothing could daunt. The figure of Christ 
is sublimely conceived. If Forsyth had called this 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 115 

— lite Apollo of Painting, — the expression would 
have perhaps been better applied, than to the St. 
Michael, of Guido, which Sniollet describes, with 
some truth, as exhibiting, " the airs of a French 
dancing-master." The frightful calm of despair is 
admirably expressed in one of the condemned, lean- 
ing on his elbow, — -who is so abstracted in mental 
suffering, as to be utterly unconscious of the daemons 
who are dragging him down to hell. Smollett, 
whose criticisms are often just, talks of the confusion 
of the picture, and calls it, " a mere mob without 
keeping, subordination, or repose ;" — repose in the 
last judgment ! — when the trumpet is sounding — the 
graves opening, — and the dead awakening ! I fear 
the confusion was in his mind, — especially, when, to 
illustrate the effect which the picture produced upon 
him, he confounds two things so different, — as a num- 
ber of instruments in a concert, — and a number of 
people talking at the same time. The keeping of the 
picture is admirable, and all is in subordination to 
the figure of the Saviour. Nothing can be more 
sublime than the action of this figure, — delivering 
the dreadful sentence of condemnation — " Depart — 
ye accursed, into everlasting fire!' , By the way; I 
am obliged to an artist for pointing out to me what, 
I think, would not easily be perceived; — that the 
Saviour is sitting down. The picture has been so 
much injured by time and cleaning, that, as the light 
, now falls on it, the figure appears to be standing up. 

I 2 



116 MICHAEL ANGELO. 

Every body has noticed the solecism of introducing 
into this picture a personage from the Heathen My- 
thology ; — Charon is employed, in ferrying over the 
bodies. Michael Angelo probably followed Dante, 
without thinking much about the matter : — 

" Caron, dimonio, con occhi di bragia, 
" Loro accennando, tutte le raccoglie, 
" Batte col remo qualimque s* adagia." 

The skeletons are refreshing themselves, which — in 
the representation at least — has something shock- 
ing, if not ridiculous. After all, however, — this 
famous picture is gone ; — it is a ruin ; — and what 
is the ruin of a painting? The soul of beauty may 
still linger, in the remains of architectural ruins, 
amidst broken entablatures, tottering pillars, and 
falling arches ; — but, when the colours of a painting 
are faded, — it is lost for ever ; — nothing is left but 
a remnant of canvass, or a few square feet of mortar. 
The Last Judgment is fast approaching to this state ; 
though it may still remain for some time, a school 
of technical excellencies to the artist, who is in pur- 
suit of professional instruction. — If there were no 
other argument for preferring oil painting to fresco, 
surely, this single circumstance of durability is suf- 
ficient to turn the scale ; — and yet Michael Angelo 
said, that oil painting was only fit occupation for 
boys, and women. 

It may be sacrilege to say any thing to depreciate 
the merit of Michael Angelo, — but, I suspect, his 



MICHAEL ANGELO. 117 

reputation was obtained, by the universality of his 
talents, rather than their separate excellence. He was 
an original genius, and his great merit seems to be, 
that he was the first to introduce a taste for the grand, 
and the sublime. He was, as Sir Joshua Reynolds 
describes him, the exalted father and founder of 
modern art; but, while he excelled in grandeur of 
style, and truth of design, he was, surely, too dis- 
dainful of the auxiliary ornaments of colouring, which 
are essential to the perfection of the art. If he is 
to be judged by his works, — can he be compared 
to Raphael in painting, or to John of Bologna in 
sculpture ? His Moses, which is considered his chef 
d'oeuvre, is to me any thing but sublime. I would 
propose these doubts to the consideration of those 
more learned than myself, — though with the fear of 
Quintilian's sentence before my eyes : — " Modeste 
tamen, et circumspecto judicio, de tantis viris pronun- 
ciandimi est, ne ) quod plerisque accidit, damnent qum 
non intelligunt." 

Notwithstanding the unbounded and almost extra- 
vagant praises, which Sir Joshua lavishes in his 
discourses, on the grand, chaste, severe style of 
Michael Angelo ; it is remarkable, that the doctrines 
he has inculcated by his pen are not supported by his 
pencil. It may therefore, perhaps, be doubted, whether 
the doctrines he laid down were not adopted from 
authority, rather than the real dictates of his own 
understanding ; — for the understanding may become 



118 MICHAEL ANGELO. 

the slave of authority, almost without knowing it ; — 
and the proof of it is, that his own taste and dis- 
cernment led him to depart from them in practice, 
and to indulge in all that witchery of colours, and 
exquisite management of chiaroscuro, which con- 
stitute so great a part of the charm of his pictures. 

In returning through the Pauline Chapel, I was 
shocked to see a picture to commemorate, — what 
the Catholics ought of all others to wish forgotten, — 
the horrible massacre of St. Bartholomew. 

4th. Lounged through the Capitol ; — the work 
of Michael Angelo, on the site of the ancient Capitol. 
It is opened to the public, as well as the Vatican, 
on Sundays and Thursdays. It contains an almost 
inexhaustible mine of antique curiosities. There is 
a very full and complete collection of imperial busts, 
which would furnish an amusing study to a physiog- 
nomist. The histories of their lives may be read 
in many of their faces, particularly in those of Nero, 
Caligula, Caracalla, and Maximin; Germanicus, 
Vespasian, and Titus. Nature has written these 
characters too plainly to be mistaken. There are 
some exceptions. In Julius Caesar, instead of the 
open generous expression, which the magnanimity 
and clemency of his character would lead you to 
expect; you find a narrow contraction of muscles, 
that would suit the features of a miser ; and in 
Heliogabalus, the swinish temperament, which is ge- 
nerally very strongly marked, does not appear. 



MODERN CAPITOL. 119 

It will require repeated visits, to examine minutely 
all the treasures of the Capitol. Perhaps, there is 
nothing more curious or interesting than the maps of 
old Rome, engraved on stone, which served as the 
ancient pavement of the T em pl e °f Remus. There 
is one fragment still extant, which is marked in these 
maps, just as it now stands, — the grand entrance to 
the Portico of Octavia, now called la Peschiera. 
The front columns, which are Corinthian, and of 
beautifully white marble, with their entablature and 
inscription, are entire ; — but the filth of a Roman 
fish-market makes it almost inaccessible. Amongst 
the statues in the Capitol, I was most struck with, a 
Cupid with his Bow, — The Hecuba, — Cupid and 
Psyche, — a head of Alexander, — a bust of Marcus 
Aurelius when a boy, — the famous Dying Gladiator, — 
and last, though it should have been placed first and 
foremost in beauty, — the beautiful Antinous, — who 
is always hanging down his head as if he felt ashamed 
of himself — 

" Sed frons laeta parum et dejecto lumina vultu." 

This is a charming statue, and, considered merely 
as an exhibition of the beauty of the male figure, 
superior perhaps to the Apollo itself. 

The Gladiator is another instance of M. Angelo's 
great skill in restoring ; — he has contributed an arm, 
a foot, the upper lip, and the tip of the nose. An- 
tiquaries dispute whether this is the representation 



120 MODERN CAPITOL. 

of a dying warrior, or a dying gladiator ; — a question 
that can only be interesting to antiquaries ; — to me 
it is sufficient that it is a dying Man. 

The Palace of the Conservators forms part of the 
Capitol. Here is the famous bronze wolf, which has 
afforded so much discussion to antiquaries, to deter- 
mine what wolf it is. Those must have better eyes 
than mine, who can discover the marks of lightning, 
which seem to be necessary to identify it with 
Cicero's wolf; but, I think, one may safely say that 
there are the traces of gilding. Two brazen Ducks 
— for, the Roman geese, instead of being expanded 
into swans, dwindle to the size of wigeons — are also 
of high antiquity, and appear to be cackling as if 
the Gauls were again within hearing. A bronze 
bust of the elder Brutus exhibits in the most strongly 
written characters, the stern inexorable severity of 
his disposition. Amongst the modern sculpture, is 
a bust of Michael Angelo, by himself. If he were 
judged by the laws of physiognomy, it would go 
hard with him ; — but some allowance must be made 
for the accident of his nose, which, they tell you, 
was flattened by a blow from a rival's mallet. The 
collection of pictures has not much to boast of. There 
is a small picture by Salvator of a Sorceress, in his 
wildest and most romantic style. 

Michael Angelo has given us too a picture of him- 
self, which does not convey a more favourable idea 
of his countenance, than is afforded by the bust. 



CARDINAL FESCH's PICTURES. 121 

5th. An invitation from Prince Kaunitz; — the 
Austrian Ambassador. Our valet de place tells us, 
that we owe this to him ; he says, that when an 
ambassador gives a f&te, his servants distribute tickets 
to all the valets de place who are in employment, as 
the readiest way of getting at the strangers who may 
happen to be at Rome ; — and the English in Rome 
are invited to every thing. 

7th. Went to Cardinal Fesch's, who has the best 
and most extensive collection of pictures in Rome. 
His chaplain acted as Cicerone. The whole house 
was thrown open. Madame, Napoleon's mother, 
inhabits one floor. In the cardinal's bed-room is a 
splendid bust of Napoleon in porcelain, crown'd 
with a golden chaplet of laurel. Here, too, is the 
cream of the collection. A Magdalen, by Vandyke, 
is particularly striking. The Magdalen is generally 
a voluptuous woman, with just enough of grief to 
make her beauties more interesting; — but in this of 
Vandyke's, there is the most affecting contrition, and 
the eyes are red with weeping. 

St. Peter, in the high-priest's kitchen, by Hon- 
thorst, or, as the Italians call him, from an inability 
to grapple with such a cacophonous name, Gerardo 
delta Notte, is a splendid specimen of the skill of the 
Dutch school in the management of light and shadow. 
The flaring light of the torches has all the effect of 
reality. The whole collection amounts to 1,300 
pictures, — far too many for a single morning. It 



122 MAMERTINE PRISONS. 

is rich in the works of Rubens ; and if Rubens.' 
powers of conception, and skill in execution, had 
been combined with taste, he would have deserved 
one of the highest pedestals in the temple of painting ; 
— but he cannot get out of Holland ; all his figures, 
particularly the females, savour strongly of a Dutch 
kitchen. 

Here is a superb assortment of Dutch pieces ; — 
and if painting consisted alone of high finishing and 
exactness of execution, the Dutch would deserve to 
be exalted above all their rivals ; — but, painting is 
as much an art of the mind, as of the hand, and the 
poetical qualifications are of quite as much importance 
as the mechanical. There is just enough of Guido 
and Carlo Dolci. The pictures of the first have been 
termed the honey, and those of the last may perhaps 
be called the treacle of painting. — Too much sac- 
charine would be cloying. 

January 8th. Descended into the Mamertine 
prisons ; which consist at present of two small 
dungeons. This prison was built by Ancus Martins; 
— " Career ad terror em increscentis audaciad, media 
urbe, imminensforo, cedijicatur" The subterraneous 
part was added by Servius Tullius ; and thence called, 
Tullianum. - It was here, in these condemned cells, 
that, we learn from Sallust, the Catiline conspirators 
were confined and executed. 

Nothing can shew the difference between the 
ancient and modern systems of government more 



OPERA. 



123 



strongly, than the limited size of this prison, compared 
with the innumerahle jails that now abound in every 
quarter of Europe ; — and yet this was the only prison 
in old Rome : 

" Sub Regibus atque Tribunis 

Viderunt uno contentam carcere Romam." 

A habeas corpus bill becomes, indeed, an object of 
importance, when the prisons of a kingdom contain 
accommodations for thousands of its inhabitants. St. 
Peter and St. Paul were confined in the same 
dungeon, where Lentulus had been before them ; — at 
least, so your guide will tell you, — and how can you 
refuse to believe him, when he shews you the remains 
of two miracles to confirm his testimony ? St. Peter 
it seems knocked his head against the wall, and 
instead of the usual consequence, — bruising his head, 
—he indented the wall ; and, in the solid rock, you 
now see a tolerable impression of his features. 
Again, — during his confinement, many converts came 
to be baptized, and Peter, being in want of water, 
caused a fountain to spring up in the centre of the 
dungeon, — which still remains. 

In the evening we went to the Italian comedy, 
which was so tiresome, that we could not endure 
more than one scene. We drove afterwards to the 
opera. The theatre large and handsome ; — six tiers 
of boxes. The seats in the pit are numbered, and 
divided off separately with elbows ; — so that you 



124 



CANOVA. 



may take any one of them in the morning, and secure 
it for the whole evening. Some plan of this kind 
would surely be a great improvement in our own 
theatres. The dancing was bad, and the singing 
worse. A set of burlesque dancers amused us after- 
wards, by aping the pirouettes of the others. The 
dancing of the stage gives but too much foundation 
for such caricatures. It is daily becoming less 
elegant, as the difficult is substituted for the graceful. 
What can be more disgusting than to see the human 
figure twirling round with the legs at right angles? 
In such an attitude, "Man delights not me nor 
woman neither." All postures to be graceful should 
be easy and natural, and what can be more unnatural 
than this ? 

9th. Went for the third time to Canova's Studio; 
who has, perhaps, attained a reputation beyond his 
merits. There is much grace in his works, but the 
effect is too often spoiled by an affected prettiness, 
or a theatrical display. There is a finical fashionable 
air about his female figures ; and his men are all at- 
titudinarians. He is too fond of borrowing from 
the ancients. This is to be lamented, for, it does 
not seem to be necessary for him to borrow ; and, 
his best works perhaps are those in which he has 
borrowed least ; as the Hercules and Lychaczs, Ddalus 
and Icarus, which he finished at 18, the Cupid and 
Psyche, and the Venus and Adonis. 
But you can too often trace every limb and fea- 



CANOVA. 125 

ture, to its corresponding prototype in the antique. 
This is pitiful. It is no excuse to say that all the 
beautiful attitudes have been forestalled, and that re- 
petition is necessary. There certainly is nothing new 
under the sun ; but, invention is displayed in a new 
arrangement of the same materials ; and the human 
figure may be varied, in its attitudes and contours, 
ad infinitum. 

Chloris awakened, is an exquisite performance ; — 
but it is plain that Canova's mind was full of the 
Hermaphrodite, when he modelled it. The intro- 
duction of the Cupid is well imagined, as a sort of 
excuse for the attitude. It is impossible to look at 
this recumbent nymph, without admiring the delicate 
finishing of the sculptor, but one cannot applaud the 
taste of the design. The expression of the whole is 
scarcely within the bounds of decency ; — for, it is the 
expression, and not the nudity of a statue, " the dis- 
position, and not the exposition of the limbs," upon 
which this depends ; and it is a prostitution of sculp- 
ture to make it subservient to the gratification of 
voluptuousness. 

This criticism may however perhaps savour of 
squeamishness ; — for, while we were admiring the 
exquisite finishing of Canova's chisel, a young Italian 
lady with a party joined us, who was thrown into an 
ecstasy of admiration by the charms of Chloris's 
figure ; and she patted the jutting beauties with delight, 
exclaiming, — while she looked round to us for con- 



I 



126 CANOVA. 

firmation of her opinion, — Bella cosa ! Bella cosa? O 
che bella cosa ! 

It is curious to see the progress of a statue, from 
the rough block of marble, to the last ad irnguem 
finish; which is all that is done by the master hand. 
The previous labour is merely mechanical, and may 
be done by a common workman from the model of 
the sculptor. 

The Venus and Adonis is full of simplicity, grace, 
and tenderness. 

The Cupid and Psyche is a charming composition, 
but Psyche's hair looks as if it had been dressed by a 
French friseur. 

There is much to admire in the group of Jlie 
Graces ; — but there is also much of that finical 
prettiness of which I complain. They are three 
pretty simpletons, — with the niminy-piminy airs of a 
fashionable boarding school ; — there is silliness with- 
out simplicity ;— and no two qualities can be more 
opposite. 

Again — there is a trickery and quackery in the 
finishing of Canova's statues, which is below the 
dignity of a sculptor. The marble is not left in its 
natural state, — but it must be stained and polished to 
aid the effect. The other sculptors laugh at this, and 
well they may ; — for these adventitious graces soon 
fade away, and are beside the purpose of sculpture, 
whose end was, and is, to represent form alone. 

January 10th. With the most lively recollection of 



4 



THORWALDSON. 127 

Canova, I went this morning to examine the Studio 
of Thorwaldson, a Danish sculptor ; — whose works 
are much more to my fancy. There is a freshness 
and originality in his designs, guided by the purest 
taste. What can be more elegant and beautiful than 
his Basso-Relievo of Night? His Venus victrix ap- 
proaches nearer than any modern statue, to the Venus 
de Medicis. There is a Shepherd too, which is a 
delightful specimen of simplicity and nature ; — and 
the charm of these statues is, that while they emu- 
late, they have not borrowed any thing from the 
works of the ancients. 

A bust of Lord Byron — a good likeness. 

January 11th. Removed from the Via degli otto 
Cantoni, to the Piazza Mignanelli. The fatigue of 
mounting 104 steps after a morning's excursion, was 
intolerable ; — to say nothing of the fish-stalls, and 
the other noises of the Corso ; amongst which, I was 
not a little surprised by a daily morning serenade 
from the odious squeaking bag-pipe. Who could have 
expected to meet this instrument so far from Scot- 
land ? — and yet it is indigenous in this land of music, 
that is, in the more southern part of it, — in Calabria. 

Walked on the Pincian Hill; where the French 
constructed an excellent promenade. Here all the 
beauty and fashion of Rome resort, when the weather 
is fine, to parade, either in their equipages, or on foot, 
and discuss the gossip and tittle-tattle of the town. 

The day was beautiful, and the elastic purity of the 



128 THE VATICAN. 

air has given me an agreeable foretaste of the charms 
of an Italian spring. Pauline, the Princess Borghese, 
was on the walk, with a bevy of admirers ; — as smart 
and pretty a little bantam figure, as can be imagined. 
She bears a strong resemblance to her brother Napo- 
leon; and her genius seems also to partake of the 
same character and to scorn the restrictions of or- 
dinary rules. 

The symmetry of her figure is very striking, and 
she once sat, if that be the phrase, to Canova ; who 
modelled her statue as a Venus victrix lying on a 
couch. This statue is now at the Borghese palace, 
but it is kept under lock and key, and cannot be seen 
without a special order from Pauline herself. 

January 12th. Sudden change in the weather. — 
Excessive cold. — Thermometer in the shade at 29. — 
Passed the morning in the Vatican, of which I have 
as yet said nothing, for the subject is almost inex- 
haustible. The extent of this vast palace may be 
collected from the number of rooms contained in it, 
which are said to amount to eleven thousand. 

The library is one of the largest in the world ; 
but a stranger has no time to examine its treasures. 
Amongst the curiosities they show, is the famous 
treatise on the seven sacraments, in the hand-writing 
of Henry VIII., which that orthodox prince sent to 
the Pope, with this distich ;- — 

Anglorum Rex Henricus, Leo Decime, mittit 
Hoc opus, et fidei testem et amicitise. 



GALLERIES OP RAPHAEL. 129 

Here also you see many curious relics of Roman fur- 
niture, with a sample of their household gods, which 
are the queerest little things in the world ; and if 
iEneas's were not on a larger scale, he might have 
carried away a hundred of them, — in his pocket. 

The galleries of Raphael are so called from the 
famous fresco ceilings, which were painted by him 
and his scholars. The whole history of the Bible is 
depicted on the ceilings of these galleries, beginning 
with the creation of the world. Such a subject must 
fail in any hands, — for what pencil can delineate the 
great Spirit? Raphael has done as much as painter 
could do, but it is impossible for a finite mind to 
imagine infinity, or give a suitable form to that 
Being who has neither beginning nor end. It is 
Fontenelle, I believe, who has said, that if every 
animal were to draw a picture of the Divinity, each 
would clothe him in its own figure; and a negro 
painter would, I presume, certainly give him a black 
complexion. Such personifications and representa- 
tions would at once appear to us in the highest degree 
ridiculous ; but perhaps it is only one degree less so, 
to see him under the figure of an old man, with a 
long beard, as Raphael has done it, with all his limbs 
at work, separating the elements with bodily energy. 
Eustace finds fault with this figure, and points out the 
inferiority of this corporeal exertion, to the sublime 
description of Moses. No one will deny that the 
description of the Almighty fiat ; — i: Let there be 

K 



130 THE VATICAN, 

light, and there was light," — conveys a more sublime 
idea to the mind, than the picture of the painter ; — 
but this is not the painter's fault ; he cannot speak to 
the mind by the alphabet. His language is in his 
brush, and he must represent, and not describe ; and I 
know not how he could represent the action of the 
creation otherwise than by making the Creator cor- 
poreally at work. It would not do to place him in 
tranquil majesty, with a scroll appended to his mouth, 
as we see in some old pictures, inscribed with — 
ysvsaSco <pcog 9 xai sysvero — " Let there be light, and 
light was." The only fault then is the choice of the 
subject ; and for this Raphael is not answerable. He 
was ordered to represent the whole scripture history, 
and the creation was too important a part to be 
omitted. But, let future painters profit by Raphael's 
failure — and let no one hereafter venture to personify 
that great first Cause, which " passeth all under- 
standing." 

The Chambers of Raphael are those which were 
painted by him in fresco ; but these works are sharing 
the fate of all other frescos ; it is grievous to witness 
the progress of decay, — for the School of Athens de- 
serves to be immortal. 

There is now a small collection of oil paintings in 
the Vatican, composed of those which have been 
brought back from France ; but which have not been 
restored to the places from whence they were taken. 
Amongst these are the St. Jerome of Domini chino. 



Raphael's transfiguration. 131 

and the famous Transfiguration of Raphael. Of this 
picture so much has been said, that it is almost im- 
possible to say more. 

But, I suspect this is a memorable instance of the 
disposition of mankind, to follow the leader, and echo 
the praise which they do not understand. Painters 
have expressed more admiration than they felt, and 
the multitude have followed them, without feeling any 
admiration at all. 

The want of unity in the action is a fault that must 
strike every body, and Smollet is for getting rid of 
this, by cutting the painting asunder, and thus making 
two pictures of it. 

The composition of the picture, — by which I sup- 
pose is meant the conception of the subject and the 
arrangement of the figures,— is pointed out by artists 
as its chief merit ; — but this is an excellence rather 
to be felt by artists than common observers. It is 
the general effect alone that strikes the latter ; and 
nothing can well be more disgusting than the figure 
of the possessed ; — who is, however, rather than the 
Saviour, the prominent figure of the piece. 

The colouring of the upper part of the picture, 
particularly in the countenance of the Saviour, is 
very defective ; — the head of Jesus has here none of 
that peculiar expression of benevolence, and more 
than human virtue, which are to be found in other 
pictures of him. 

The figure however is beautifully managed — con- 

K2 



132 THE VATICAN. 

veying the impression of that supernatural lightness 
which we associate with the idea of a " glorified 
body ;" — but, it is impossible to extend this admira- 
tion to the opera-dancing attitudes of Moses and Elias. 

January 13th. Saw Camuccini's paintings, — a 
living artist. The death of Virginia, the labour of 
fifteen years, painted for Lord Bristol, is a splendid 
picture. The modern artists of Italy, however, 
though in general excellent draftsmen, delight too 
much in glaring colours, and strong contrasts of light 
and shadow, and their style of painting seems better 
calculated for the tea-board than the canvass. 

Went in the evening with a large party, amongst 
whom was Thorwaldson, to see the Vatican by torch- 
light. This is absolutely necessary, if you wish to 
appreciate justly the merit of the statues. Many of 
them were found in baths, where light was not ad- 
mitted. They were created therefore for torch-light 
as their proper element ; and the variety of light and 
shade, which is thus produced, heightens the effect 
prodigiously. There is something of the same kind 
of difference between the statues by day and by torch- 
light, as between a rehearsal in the morning, and the 
lighted theatre in the evening. 

I have endeavoured in vain to admire the Apollo 
as much as I did the Venus ; — and yet, if it were the 
perfection of the male figure, one ought to admire 
it more : for sculptors agree, that the male figure is 
the most beautiful subject for their art. But, perhaps 



THE VATICAN. 138 

it is impossible to divest oneself entirely of all sexual 
associations ; — and this may be the secret charm of 
the Venus. — The ladies, I believe, prefer the Apollo. 
— By the way, I am surprised at the squeamishness 
which has induced the ruling powers at Florence and 
Rome, to deface the works of antiquity by the ad- 
dition of a tin fig-leaf, which is fastened by a wire 
to all the male statues. One would imagine the 
Society for the Suppression of Vice had an affiliated 
establishment in Italy. Nothing can be more ridicu- 
lously prudish. That imagination must be depraved 
past all hope, that can find any prurient gratification 
in the cold chaste nakedness of an ancient marble. 
It is the fig-leaf alone that suggests any idea of inde- 
cency, and the effect of it is to spoil the statue. 
I was complaining loudly of this barbarous addition, 
when an Italian lady of the party assented to my 
criticism, and whispered in my ear, — that I must 
come again in the Autumn. This taste has however 
become so fixed, that Canova now cuts a fig-leaf 
out of the original block, and it thus becomes an in- 
tegral part of the statue. 

It is pity that Canova's works are placed in the 
Vatican. The Perseus might have attracted admira- 
tion while the Apollo was at Paris, — but Apollo is 
come back; — and who could ever tolerate a copy 
by the side of the original picture? 

His Boxers have more spirit and originality; — but 
is not Damoxenus's posture wrong ! Ought he not 



134 THE VATICAN. 

to have his left leg foremost ? As he stands, his 
lunge is already made, whereas he is only preparing to 
lunge ; but I am confusing the terms of fencing with 
those of boxing, — and I leave this question to the 
decision of the fancy. 

January 14th. The more I see of the antique 
statues, the more I am struck with the nature and 
simplicity, which constitute their great charm. I 
have cited many instances, and it would be easy to 
add more ;— for example, Posidippus and Menander 
sit in their arm-chairs, as they might be supposed 
to have done in their own studies, without losing an 
atom of force or expression by this repose. Ease is 
the consummation of art, — " the last refinement of 
labour,"-— TroXXr^ Trsipag to tsT^sutuiov STnyswrj^xa. 

Canova, on the contrary, seems to have studied too 
much in the school of Michael Angelo. His muscles 
are all in action. His figures are stuck out, as if they 
were conscious of the presence of spectators. There 
is always something in their attitude and expression, 
which there would not be, if it were not for this 
consciousness ; — just as it happens with second-rate 
actors, who are unable to preserve the simplicity of 
nature on the stage, but do every thing as if they 
were aware that an assembly of spectators were look- 
ing at them. The statue of Phocion, one of the 
greatest, because one of the best men of antiquity, is a 
charming instance of that quiet modesty and simplicity 
of attitude, so appropriate to his character. 



THE VATICAN. 



135 



The head of Jupiter, and the noble statue of Nerva, 
in the " Salle ronde" struck me much. Jove's head 
looks as if its nod might make Olympus tremble. 
Sublime divine majesty beams in every feature. By 
the way, it is impossible not to be struck with the 
strong likeness between the countenance of the mild 
Jupiter,— the Jupiter Optimus Maximus of the Romans, 
—and that of Christ, as it is represented by the great 
majority of Italian painters ; whose pictures are so 
like one another, that they seem to have been copied 
from some common original. It was, perhaps, this 
beau ideal of the Greeks which furnished them with 
the idea of their Christ ; — and indeed, it would not 
be easy for the imagination of any painter, to put 
together a set of features, better adapted to the subject. 

While Jupiter looks the king of the gods, Nerva, 
with a laurel chaplet on his brow, realizes all one's 
ideas of what the emperor of men ought to be. If 
the statue of Nerva were not so admirable, that it 
would amount to high treason to remove it, this 
would clearly be the place for the Apollo. He is 
very ill placed where he is, cooped up as it were 
in a pen. For, as the size is above the standard of 
life, it should be seen from a distance; — but this 
is impossible in the solitary cell where he is now 
confined. 

The group of the Laocoonhas no charms for me ; — 
and I am not at all more disposed to admire it, because 
Pliny tells us that it was cut out of a single piece of 



1.36 THE VATICAN. 

marble. This may render it a greater curiosity, — 
but nothing more. Laocoon's sons too, are not boys, 
but little men; and there is something unhappy in 
the materials of which the group is composed, which 
have all the appearance of painted wood. Yet, we 
collect from Pliny that this was considered as superior 
to any work of art, in sculpture or painting*. 

As we find that these sculptors lived as early as the 
year of Rome 320, it is probable that Virgil took his 
description from this group ; and indeed he has hit 
off the expression of the statue exactly, in his com- 
parison of the cries of Laocoon to the bellowing of 
a bull— • 

Clamores simul horrendos ad sidera tollit : 
Quales mugitus, fugit quum saucius aram 
Taurus, — 

The ancients were as perfect in their representation 
of animals, as of men ; and there are the most delight- 
ful specimens of this kind in the chambers of animals. 
But, it would be endless, and indeed hopeless, to 
attempt a description of the contents of the Vatican. 
Sculpture and painting, strictly speaking, do not 
perhaps admit of description. The ideas of beauty 
received by one sense, can hardly be transmitted by 

* Sicut in Laocoonte, qui est in Titi imperatoris domo, opus, 
omnibus et pictures et statuaries, artis, anteferendum ; ex uno 
lapide, eum et Uberos draconumque mirabiles nexus, de consilii 
sententia, fecere swmmi artifices Agesander, et Polydorus, et 
A thenodorus RhodiL 



THE VATICAN. 187 

another. A man may give the exact proportions of 
the Venus de Medicis, with the projections of the 
nose and chin; — but all this, which is literally de- 
scription, can never impart a single idea of the grace 
and dignity diffused over that divine statue, — and if 
he mention that grace, he describes his own sensations 
rather than the figure. He, who could by his de- 
scription place before the eyes of his reader the effect 
produced by the Venus ; — who could convey by words, 
the manly, resigned, patient suffering, of the dying 
Gladiator, conscious that he is breathing his last ; — 
or, that melancholy and terrible gloom, which at- 
tended the destruction of all things, as exhibited in the 
Deluge of Poussin, — with the heart-rending despair 
of the Husband and Father, who sees his wife perish- 
ing, and his child exposed to inevitable death ; — who 
could shew him the glowing tints of sunset, or the 
moon-beams glistening on the scarcely-rippling ocean, 
as created by the pencil of Vernet ; — The man, I say, 
who could excite sensations similar to those which 
have been produced by these masters of the sublime 
and the beautiful, would cease to describe ; — he would 
be their equal in a different line ;— he would be 
himself — a poet. 



138 



CHAPTER V. 

Sacred Staircase* — Robbers — Blessing of Horses — 
Festival in St. Peter's — Catholic Ceremonials — 
Carnival— Improvisatrice — Baths of Titus — Coli- 
seum — Masked Ball— End of the Carnival— Mgri 
Somnia. 

January 15th. AT is curious to observe how 
Pagan and Christian Rome are every where blended 
and incorporated ; and how adroitly the papal capital 
has invested itself with the pomp of the Gentile city. 
Besides the Pantheon, now the church of All Saints; 
the Theatre of Pompey has been converted into the 
church of S. Andrea della Valle; the Temple of Isis 
has been dedicated to S. Marcello ; and the splendid 
columns of Trajan and Marcus Aurelius, now support 
the statues of St. Peter, and St. Paul. 

I looked on, this morning, at a curious religious 
exercise. Adjoining the church of S. Giovanni Late- 
rano, is a chapel, to which you ascend by the sacred 
staircase, which is said to have been brought from 
Pilate's House in Jerusalem, and is believed to be the 
very staircase which Christ ascended when he was 
carried to judgment. It would be considered sacrile- 
gious to mount this staircase by any other than a 



THE SACRED STAIRCASE. 139 

genuflecting progression; and this has been thought 
so meritorious an act, that there was some danger of 
the marble steps being worn away by the knees of 
the pious ; so that now, an external covering of wood 
has been added, which may be renewed, as occasion 
requires. The ascent is no easy task, as I can vouch 
from the experience of three or four steps, which I 
achieved myself. There is, of course, another way 
down; for it would amount to an act of martyrdom 
to descend in the same manner. 

January 16th. I was arrested in my way through 
the Campo Vaccino this morning, by an extraordinary 
sight. There was a large herd of about a hundred 
pigs, and I arrived just as three men were commenc- 
ing the work of death. Each had a stiletto in his 
hand, and they despatched the whole herd in a few 
minutes. 

The stab was made near the left leg, and seemed to 
go directly to the heart, for the animal fell without a 
groan or a struggle. This appears to be a less cruel, 
and is certainly a more quiet mode than our own; 
where the peace of a whole parish is disturbed by the 
uproar occasioned by the murder of a single pig. 

It is to be hoped that the stiletto may soon be con- 
fined to this use ; and indeed the practice of stabbing 
is becoming every day more rare. The French, by 
depriving the people of their knives, did much to put 
an end to this horrible custom ; and the abridgment 
that has been made in the indulgence of sanctuaries, to 



140 ROBBERS 

which an assassin used to fly, and laugh at the officers 
of justice, will do more towards abolishing it altogether. 

The administration of Cardinal Consalvi is calcu- 
lated to do all, that an honest, wise, and liberal-minded 
minister can do, to correct the evils of a bad consti- 
tution. But, in endeavouring to work for the public 
good, he is exposed to constant opposition, from the 
collision of private interests. 

Last year there was a scoundrel in the post-office, 
who committed wholesale depredations upon the let- 
ters, and all the world complained of the loss of re- 
mittances. This fellow was however protected by a 
powerful opposition Cardinal, and it seemed, that he 
could only be got rid of from the post-office, by the 
promise of an appointment of equal value in some 
other department. 

Nothing can shew in a stronger light the weakness 
of the government, than the regular system of robbers, 
established in open defiance of it, who push their 
attacks within eighteen miles of the Pope's palace. 
Scarcely a month has passed since a most outrageous 
attempt was made to seize Lucien Buonaparte, at his 
own villa at Frascati. He had the good fortune to 
make his escape through a secret and subterraneous 
door, but the robbers carried off a poor painter to the 
mountains, who was staying in the house, supposing 
him to be Lucien. It was with some difficulty, and 
after three days' detention, that the painter convinced 
them at last, by giving specimens of his art, that he 



FESTIVAL OF ST. ANTHONY. 141 

was really no prince ; and they were not a little mor- 
tified at the discovery of their mistake ; for their cus- 
tom is to demand an ad valorem ransom, and the price 
of the painter was nothing in comparison with what 
they would have exacted for the Prince of Canino 
himself. 

All endeavours to put down this barefaced system 
have failed. The military have been employed, but 
it seems the robbers can afford to pay them higher 
for being quiet, than the government can for being 
active. 

Much is expected from the present governor of 
Rome ; — but what can be done by a single man, 
where the great mass is corrupt ? When public spirit 
is extinct, and the people feel no interest in the pre- 
servation of the government, there is no longer any 
security for the fidelity of agents, or the execution of 
orders. 

January 17th. Festival of St. Anthony; who 
interpreted literally the injunction of the Scripture, — 
" Go ye, into all the world, and preach the Gospel to 
every creature ;" — and who, according to the legend, 
like another Orpheus, charmed the beasts of the desert 
by his eloquence. On this day there was a general 
blessing of horses. A priest stands at the door of the 
church, and with a long brush, dipped in a consecrated 
vessel, scatters the holy water upon the horses as they 
are driven up to receive the benediction. All the 
equipages of the nobility, splendidly caparisoned with 



142 BLESSING OF HORSES. 

ribbons, were assembled to participate in the cere- 
mony. The best defence of such a ceremony will be 
found in the benefit likely to result to the objects of 
it, from its teaching that comprehensive charity, which 
includes even the inferior creatures in the great circle 
of Christian benevolence. There is something: that 
takes a delightful hold on the imagination, in the 
simple creed of the untutored Indian, 

" Who thinks, admitted to that equal sky, 
His faithful dog shall bear him company." 

Without attempting however to raise the mysterious 
veil, which is drawn over the lot of the lower animals 
in the scale of creation, it is difficult not to sympathize 
with any doctrines that inculcate kind and humane 
feelings towards them. 

The indolence of the Romans is a common theme 
of remark ; but I doubt whether it be well founded. 
Something must be allowed them, on the score of 
their climate, the natural effect of which is to produce 
listlessness and languor. Still more should be added 
on account of their government, in the spirit of which 
there is no encouragement given to individual industry, 
by the diffusion of equal rights. The barrenness of 
the Campagna has been attributed to this national 
indolence, which will not be at the pains of cultivating 
it. But I believe it would be more correct to say, — 
not that the Campagna is barren, because it is not 
cultivated ; — but, that it is not cultivated, because it 
is barren. The Roman soldiers, before the time of 



ROMAN ARTS. 143 

Hannibal, in comparing their own country with that 
of the Capuans, argued thus ; — " An wquum esse 
dedititios suos ilia fertilitate atque amcsnitate perfrui ; 
se, militando fessos in pestilenti atque arida circa urbem 
solo luctari?" Liv. lib. 7. c. 38. 

In many particulars the modern Romans evince no 
want of ingenuity or industry. In the delicate and 
laborious workmanship of Mosaic ; in engraving in 
all its branches ; and in the elegant manufacture of 
cameos out of oriental shell ; they are very industrious. 
The demand for articles of this kind is constant, and 
as foreigners are the principal customers, I take it 
for granted that the profits are considerable, and that 
they flow directly into the pockets of the manufacturer. 
This is all that is necessary to promote industry ; 
namely, that there should be a demand for the pro- 
ductions of a man's labour, and that he shall have a 
security for the enjoyment of the fruits of his work. 

The Italians are admirable drivers, and go far 
beyond our whip-club. I have seen eight horses in 
hand trot up the Corso ; and have heard of twelve, 
arranged in three rows, of four a-breast. Their rule 
of the road is directly the reverse of ours ; they take 
the right hand in meeting, and the left in passing ; — 
and if two persons are in an open carriage, or on a 
coach-box together, he who drives will, in defiance 
of the eternal fitness of things, sit on the near side. 

18th. A grand f&te in St. Peter's. The Pope was 
borne into the church on the shoulders of men, seated 



I44< FESTIVAL IN ST. PETER'S. 

in his chair of state, making continually, as he passed 
along, the sign of the cross in the air with the two 
fore-fingers of his right hand. Two pole-bearers, with 
splendid fans of ostrich feathers fixed on the top 
of their poles, preceded him, and reminded me of the 
chief mourner of Otaheite. The red flowing robes of 
the cardinals are much more splendid and becoming 
than the sovereign white satin of the Pope ; which, 
bespangled as it is with gold, has a dingy and dirty 
appearance, at a distance. The Guard Noble, or 
Pope's Body Guard, the very privates of which are 
composed of the nobility of Rome, mustered in the 
church in full uniform, and kept the ground. They 
did not take off their hats, and the only part they 
took in the worship was to kneel down at the word 
of command, in adoration of the Host, when the bell 
announced the completion of the miracle of transub- 
stantiation*. 

A strange attendance this, for the successor of St. 
Peter, — the apostle of the Prince of Peace ! — but I 
doubt whether the apostles, if they could return to 
this world, would be able to recognise their own 
religion, swelled out and swaddled, as it is, in the 
Papal Pontificals. 

* Middleton confesses, that, in this instance at least, he 
cannot find a parrallel in any part of the Pagan worship. The 
credulity of the ancients, great as it was, revolted at a doctrine 
like this, which was thought too gross even for Egyptian 
idolatry ; — ik Ecquem tarn amentem esse putas, qui Mud, quo 
vescatur, Deum credat esse?" Cic. de. Nat. Deor. 3. 



CATHOLIC CEREMONIALS, 145 

It is common to hear of the attraction and fascina- 
tion of the Catholic ceremonials ; — for my part I 
think mass a more tiresome business than a Quakers' 
meeting. 

There is something very unsocial in the whole 
transaction. The priest turns his back to the people, 
and mumbles the prayers to himself. There seems 
to be no community of worship, except in the general 
genuflection at the elevation of the Host. The people 
seem to have no functions to perform, but to look on 
at a spectacle, which is to me the most fatiguing 
office in the world. 

The vespers, of which music forms the principal 
part, are more attractive ; though one cannot listen 
to the chants of these " warbling wethers," without 
feelings of indignation at the system which sanctions 
such a school of music ; but perhaps a government of 
celibacy may affect to believe the deprivation of 
virility a loss of small importance. 

January 19th. Lounged away the morning in the 
Capitol. This modern building is not worthy to 
crown the summit of the Capitoli immobile saxum, as 
the Romans in the pride of their national vanity 
delighted to call it. But what is now become of their 
eternal empire, with the fables of Juventus, and 
Terminus, which were to them sacred articles of 
faith? — " The wind hath passed over it and it is 
gone !" — This devoted attachment to their country 
is perhaps the only amiable feature in the national 



146 REFLECTIONS ON THE OLD ROMANS. 

character of the Romans. With what spirit it breaks 
out in the invocation of Horace : — 

Alme Sol corru nitido diem qui 
Promis et celas, aliusque et idem 
Nasceris; possis nihil urbe Roma 

Visere majus ! 

though in these very lines, there is a sufficient indication 
of that jealous hostility towards all other nations, 
with which this love of their own country was com- 
bined. 

It may be very amusing to read their history, now 
that we are out of the reach of that grasping and in- 
satiable ambition, which must have rendered them 
deservedly hateful to their contemporaries. 

But, Heaven be thanked, the bonds of Roman 
dominion are broken ; and it is to be hoped, that 
any future attempt to revive their plans of universal 
conquest, may be as unsuccessful as the late imitation 
of them by the French, whose Jacobinical watch-word, 
of " War to the Palace and Peace to the Cottage," 
was closely copied — though more insidiously worded — 
from the favourite maxim of the Romans, — 
" Parcere subjectis, et dehellare superbos." 

This line of their favourite poet, contains a complete 
exposition of the spirit of their foreign policy ; — a 
truly domineering and tyrannical spirit, — which could 
not be at rest, while there was any other people on 
the face of the globe, that claimed the rights of 
national independence. 



PRINCESS PROSSEDI, 147 

In the square of the Capitol is the famous equestrian 
statue of Marcus Aurelius. The Horse is very spirited, 
and Michael Angelo's address to it, Cammina! is still 
quoted. 

Went in the evening to the Princess Prossedi's. 
A select ball. — Lucien Buonaparte and his brother 
Louis, with their respective families, were present. 

January 20th. This morning the Princess's servant 
called for a fee. This is the custom of Italy, and 
wherever you make a visit, the domestics call the 
next day to levy a tax upon you. 

Called on the Princess Prossedi ; — : an amiable and 
interesting woman. She is the eldest daughter of 
Lucien Buonaparte by a former wife ; and it was she 
who refused to be the wife of Ferdinand of Spain. 
This match was proposed to her, when she was on a 
visit to the Emperor's court, during the disgrace and 
exile of her father ; but, though she was alone, and 
subjected to the solicitations of the whole court, and 
at last assailed by the menaces of Napoleon himself, 
she had the firmness and courage to adhere to her 
resolution. Her answer to an inquiry, whether she 
did not feel afraid of the consequences of irritating 
her uncle by a refusal, will explain her character ;— 
O que non! on craint peu celui au'on n'estime pas. 

The Buonaparte family muster strongly at Rome. 
Madame Mire is said to be immensely rich; Louis 
has bought a large tract on the Palatine Hill ; and 
Lucien has a spacious palace in the Via Condotti, 

L 2 



148 LUCIEN BUONAPARTE THE CARNIVAL. 

Whatever his political sins may have been, his domestic 
life is irreproachable. He lives in the bosom of his 
family, all the branches of which assemble in the 
evening at his house, which is open also to strangers, 
who have been properly introduced to him. 

His wife must once have been a most beautiful 
woman, and she still retains all that fascination of 
manner which is the best part of beauty. 

January 21st. The first day of the Carnival ; — 
or rather the first of the last eight days of the Carnival, 
which are the paroxysm of the fun and the folly of 
this season of rejoicing. But, as eight consecutive 
days of festivities might be too fatiguing, occasional 
resting days intervene, to give time for the spirits to 
rally ; — and then, when the season of indulgence is 
over, Lent and fasting begin. This is wisely con- 
trived, for after an excess of feasting, fasting succeeds 
as a relief, rather than a privation. Whatever Lent 
may be to the many, it is no light matter to the 
strict Catholics. The present Pope, who is most 
exemplary in all religious observances, keeps it with 
the most rigid abstemiousness. 

The usual exhibition has not been given this morn- 
ing in the Piazza del Popolo. It is customary that 
an execution should take place on this day, as an 
edifying prelude to the gaieties of the Carnival, but 
there is no criminal ready for the guillotine. 

January 22nd. Second day of the Carnival. The 
Corso is the grand scene of foolery. Here, two lines 



THE CARNIVAL. 149 

of carriages, filled with grotesque figures in masks, 
drive up and down ; while the middle of the street is 
thronged with a multitude of masqueraders. I have 
seen little fun, and no humour, — except in a few 
English maskers. All that Corinne says of the skill 
and vivacity of the Italians in supporting characters 
of masquerade, I suspect to be greatly exaggerated. 

I doubt whether a May-day in England be not 
quite as amusing as the Carnival. All that the peo- 
ple do, is to pelt each other with sugar-plums, as they 
are called, though they are really made of lime. When 
a stoppage takes place amongst the carriages, which 
is frequently the case, those that are alongside of one 
another, might be compared to two ships in an en- 
gagement, — such is the fury of the fire. One can 
bear being pelted by the natives, for they throw these 
missiles lightly and playfully, — but the English pelt 
with all the vice and violence of school-boys, and 
there was an eye nearly lost in the battle of this 
morning. 

The conclusion of the day's entertainment is the 
horse-race. There is a discharge of cannon as a sig- 
nal for the carriages to quit the Corso. The street 
is soon cleared, and the horses are brought out. It is 
really surprising to see their eagerness and emulation ; 
indeed they seem to enjoy the scene as much as the 
spectators. To-day, one of them in its impatience to 
start, broke from its keeper, leaped the barrier, and 
set off alone. Five started afterwards, and, for the 



150 THE CARNIVAL. 

first two hundred yards, they seemed to run against 
one another with thorough good-will ; but being with- 
out riders, they find out long before they get to the 
end of the Corso, which is a mile long, that their 
speed is entirely optional. Many of them therefore 
take it very quietly ; — the greatest fool runs fastest, 
and wins the race. 

Every sort of stimulant is applied to supply the want 
of a rider. Little bells are tied about them, and a 
sort of self-acting spur is contrived, by suspending a 
barbed weight to a string, which, in its vibrations, 
occasioned by the motion of the horse, strikes con- 
stantly against his flanks. The people encourage 
them by shouts from all sides ; but the most efficacious 
and the most cruel of the means employed, is the ap- 
plication of a squib of gunpowder to the poor animal's 
tail ; — or a piece of lighted touch-paper to some raw 
part of his hide. 

In the evening a masked ball; — where I in vain 
endeavoured to find any thing like the well supported 
characters, which we occasionally see at a masque- 
rade in England. There were, in fact, no cha- 
racters at all; — nothing but a mob of masks and 
dominos. 

January 23d. A day's rest from the Carnival. — 
Drove to the Borghese villa. — The gardens and 
pleasure-grounds are on a larger scale, and in a better 
taste, than I have yet seen in Italy. The trees in the 
shrubberies are allowed to grow as nature prompts 



IMPROVISATRICE. 151 

them, without being clipped and cut into all sorts of 
grotesque figures. 

The villa is deserted not only by its owner, but by 
the famous statues, — the Household Gods, — which it 
once possessed. Casts now occupy the pedestals of 
the original marbles, which were sold by the Prince 
Borghese to Napoleon, and still remain in the gallery 
of the Louvre. 

We went in the evening to one of the Theatres to 
hear an Improvisatrice. She was a young and pretty 
girl of seventeen. The subjects had been written by 
the audience on slips of paper, and put into an urn, to 
be drawn out as occasion required. She recited 
three poems. The subject of the first was, the Sacri- 
fice of Iphigenia ; — the next, the Cestus of Venus; 
— and the last, Sappho presents a wreath of flowers to 
Phaon, was rendered more difficult, by supplying her 
with the final words of each stanza, which she was to 
fill up with sense and rhymes. The final words, 
which were given by the audience, were all to end in 
ore; — -some one suggested sartore, — as a puzzling 
word for the conclusion of the last stanza ; and, if one 
might judge from the laughter and applause of the au- 
dience, for I confess I could not follow her, she 
brought it in with a very ingenious turn. 

In the intervals between the poems, she called upon 
the audience indiscriminately for a word, as the sub- 
ject of a stanza, which she immediately recited, making 
every line rhyme with the word proposed. She was 



152 BATHS OF TITUS. 

sjeldom at a loss for a moment; and, when she did he- 
sitate, she got out of her difficulties most triumphantly. 
Drudo was the word that seemed to puzzle her most ; 
at least, she made an' attempt to evade it; but it was 
pressed upon her by the audience. 

Upon the whole it was a wonderful performance ; — 
for though I could not catch all she said, one might 
judge of the merit of such a performance, by the effect 
produced upon the audience. Besides, though words 
may add a great deal, they are not absolutely neces- 
sary to the expression of sentiment ; — the language of 
gestures, and features, and tones, is universal, and, by 
the aid of these, it was easy to follow the story of 
Iphigenia perfectly. 

After the subject of a poem was proposed, she 
walked about the stage for about ten minutes, and 
then burst out, with all the seeming fervour of inspi- 
ration, chanting her stanzas in a recitative tone, ac- 
companied by music. 

Her enunciation and action were a little too vehe- 
ment for an English taste, and conveyed an idea of 
vulgarity ; — but of this it is impossible to judge, with- 
out knowing more of the national standard of good- 
breeding. 

January 24th. Of the Palace and Baths of Titus 
there are still many interesting remains. — It was in 
the time of Raphael, that the group of Laocoon was 
discovered here, and that several subterraneous cham- 
bers were opened, containing very beautiful specimens 



BATHS OF TITUS. 



153 



of painted ceilings, in excellent preservation. Raphael 
is said to have borrowed all he could from these paint- 
ings, for his own designs in the Vatican, and then to 
have filled up the ruins again. This story is in every 
body's mouth, but, that Raphael, whose character ap- 
pears in other particulars, the essence of candour 
and ingenuousness, should have been actuated by such 
feelings of petty professional jealousy, is very impro- 
bable. If no care was taken to maintain the commu- 
nication with the ruins, time and accident would soon 
do that which is imputed to Raphael. However this 
may be, it is certain, that they were not again exca- 
vated till the year 1776 ; and, it is to the French, that 
we owe the interesting discoveries which have been 
made since that time. They set about the work in 
good earnest, and they have furnished ample materials 
for forming a judgment of the nature and extent of 
these imperial establishments. The colours on the 
ceilings are, in some instances, as fresh, as if they had 
been painted yesterday ; and the whole subject of the 
picture is often very intelligible ; — as is the case in the 
amours of Mars and Sylvia. There is a painting on 
the end wall of one of the passages, representing a 
continuation of the passage, which shews that the 
Romans were not so ignorant of linear perspective, as 
it has been supposed. In another passage, leading to 
the baths, which was excavated by the French, and 
which, as it would seem, had never before been ex- 
plored since the original wreck which buried it in ruins,- 



154 BATHS OF TITUS. 

was found this scrawl, which has all the appearance of 
an ancient inscription, and which, — under the veil of 
a learned language, — I shall venture to transcribe: 

DVODECIM DEOS, ET DIANAM, ET JOVEM OPTVMVM 

MAXVMVM, HABEAT IRATOS, QVISQVIS HIC 

MINXERIT AVT CACAVERIT. 

The baths seem to have been fitted up with the 
greatest magnificence. There are traces of Mosaic 
pavement; and there was a coating of marble carried 
about ten feet high, probably to prevent the painted 
walls from being injured by the splashing of the 
water. 

In one of the rooms, the bath itself remains; — it 
is a circular basin of about twenty-four feet in dia- 
meter. 

Here too they shew, what is said to be a part of 
the House of Mecaenas. It is a curious specimen of 
the perfection of Roman brick-work, in complete pre- 
servation; the pointing of which is as perfect, as if it 
had been just finished by the mason, and I doubt whe- 
ther any modern workmanship, of the same materials, 
would bear a comparison with it. The bricks are 
differently shaped from our own, and do not exceed 
two inches in thickness. 

The third day of the Carnival. — Went to see the 
horses come in, which was a very tame business. All 
the rivalry is in the start. — The reverse of an English 
horse-race. — There the start is nothing, and the con- 
test is reserved for the goal. 



THE COLISEUM. 155 

January 25. Another respite from the Carnival. 
— Drove at midnight to see the Coliseum by moon- 
light; — but what can I say of the Coliseum? It 
must be seen ; to describe it I should have thought 
impossible, — if I had not read Manfred. To see it 
aright, as the Poet of the North tells us of the fair 
Melrose, one must " Go visit it by the pale moonlight." 
The stillness of night, — the whispering echoes, — the 
moonlight shadows, — and the awful grandeur of the 
impending ruins, form a scene of romantic sublimity, 
such as Byron alone can describe as it deserves. 
His description is the very thing itself; — but what 
cannot he do on such a subject, the touch of whose 
pen, like the wand of Moses, can produce waters 
even from the barren rock ! 

A man should go alone to enjoy, in full perfection, 
all the enchantment of this moonlight scene ; and if 
it do not excite in him emotions, that he never felt 
before, — let him hasten home, — eat his supper, — say 
his prayers, — and thank Heaven that he has not one 
single grain of romance or enthusiasm, in his whole 
composition. 

If he be foi|ind of moralizing, — the Papal sentinels, 
that now mount guard here, — the Cross, which has 
been set up, in the centre of the amphitheatre, to 
'protect these imperial remains from further spoliation, 
— in the very spot, where the Disciples of that de- 
spised Cross were most cruelly persecuted, — and the 
inscription which it bears, — Baciando la S. Croce si 



156 THE COLISEUM. 

ucquistano duecento giorni di indulgenza, — will furnish 
him with ample materials for reflection. 

January 27th. Fifth day of the Carnival. — Tire- 
some repetition of the same foolery. — It may be 
however, that I find it dull, because I am dull myself, 
for the Italians seem to enjoy it vastly. 

Escaped, from the noisy crowd of the Corso, to 
the silent solitude of the Coliseum ; where you can 
scarcely believe that you are within five minutes' walk 
of such a scene of uproar. Considering the de- 
predations, which have for so many ages been com- 
mitted upon this pile, it is -wonderful that so much 
remains. It is certain that Paul II. built the pa- 
lace of St. Mark,— Cardinal Ricario the Chancery, — 
and Paul III. the Farnese palace,— with materials 
from this mine. The Barberini palace is also said 
to have been derived from the same stock; — " et 
quod non fecerunt Barbari, fecere Barberini." I 
believe however, that this conceit is the only au- 
thority for the fact; — and truth has been often 
sacrificed to a conceit. 

At last, to prevent further depredations, it was 
consecrated. The present Pope is doing much to 
prevent dilapidation; but, like his predecessors, he 
seems to have little reliance on the memory of man- 
kind, for he defaces all his works with an inscription ; 
though it is conceived in a more modest taste than 
former inscriptions ; and instead of- — Munificentia, — 
he is content with, — Cura Pii VII. . 



THE COLISEUM. 157 

Much has been written on the subject of the holes* 
which are scattered all over the building; but I 
think it is plain that they were made to extract the 
metal, used to fasten the stones together. In many 
of these holes, some small fragments of lead and iron 
are still remaining. 

It must have been a noble sight, to behold this 
vast Amphitheatre filled with spectators. — The very 
lowest computation allows that it would contain 
eighty thousand. 

There was an awning to protect them from the 
sun and the rain ; and that capricious tyrant, Caligula, 
is described by Suetonius as venting his spleen by 
ordering this canopy to be withdrawn: — " Gladiatorio 
munere, reductis interdum fagrantissimo Sole velis, 
emitti quenquam vetabat. 

The order and arrangement of the seats are still 
distinguishable, and nothing can be more admirably 
contrived than the vomitories, for facilitating the in- 
gress and egress of all classes, to and from their 
respective seats, without disorder or confusion. There 
was probably an upper gallery for the multitude, of 
which there are now no remains. 

Between the arches numbered xxxviii and xxxix, 
there is one, which is not only without any num- 
ber at all, but is also deficient in the entablature; 
whence it is concluded, that this was the entrance 
to the passage which led to the palace of Titus; 
by which the Emperor had his private approach to 
the amphitheatre. 



158 THE CARNIVAL. 

Excavation has also discovered the subterraneous 
passage, by which the Emperors had a secret com- 
munication with the palace of the Palatine ; — and 
it was here that Commodus was attacked by the 
conspirators. 

It was probably the sight of the Coliseum, the 
wonder of ancient Rome, as St. Peter's is of the 
modern city, that struck Poggio with the admira- 
tion he so well describes in his work De varietate 
Fortunce: — " Prcesenti vero, mirum dictu, nihil im- 
minuit, vere major fuit Roma, majoresque sunt reli- 
quiae quam rebar. Jam non orbem ab hdc urbe 
domitam, sed tarn sero domitam, miror." By the way, 
Gibbon attributes these words to Petrarch ; but if 
they be his, Poggio has adopted them without ac- 
knowledgment. 

It is indeed a glorious ruin, and one may sympa-, 
thize with the superstitious enthusiasm, that believed 
" Quamdiu stabit Colyseus, stabit et Roma ; quando 
cadet Colyseus, cadet Roma ; quando cadet Roma cadet 
et mundus" 

28th. Sixth day of the carnival. — Sat an hour 
in the Borghese palace, before the charming sibyl 
of Dominichino, which is one of the very sweetest 
pictures in the world. Afterwards to the Piazza 
Navona, the site of the ancient Circus Agonalis ; 
which, by an easy transition through Agona and 
Nagona, has become Navona. Near here is the 
ancient statue which has been called after the Tailor 
Pasquin, who lived near the place where it was 



THE CARNIVAL. 159 

discovered ; and who, besides indulging himself in 
satirical raillery against all the world, has had the 
honour of giving his name to all subsequent effusions 
of the same kind. The floating capital of wit may 
be estimated by the squibs and epigrams, which are 
still occasionally affixed to this statue *. 

29th. Seventh day of the carnival. — The horses 
started with more animation than ever. — The instant 
they were off, one of the booths opposite to us fell in 
with a tremendous crash. There was something 
awfully terrific in the general scream of many hun- 
dreds of people, who all sunk down in one heap of 
confusion. No lives lost. — The extent of the mischief 
was a few broken limbs. What a strange thing is 
luck, — as we call it ; but, do we not all too often, — 

" Call God's best providence a lucky hit !" 
— I had wished to take my place on this booth, 
and was with difficulty persuaded by my companion 
to prefer the opposite one. 

* A man called Ceesar lately married a girl of the name of 
Roma — both common names in Rome. They lived in the Piazza 
Navona, close to Pasquin's statue, where was found next morn- 
ing the following advice : 

Cave, Ccesar, ne tua Roma 
respublica fiat I 
The man replied the next day ; 

Ccesar imperat ! 
But his antagonist immediately rejoined ; 

Ergo coronabitur. 
Upon the late entry of the Emperor of Austria into Rome, 
the following squib appeared on Pasquin's statue : — 
Gaudium urbis,fletus provincimwn, risus mundi. 



160 MASKED BALL. 

Masked ball in the evening at the Teatro Aliberti. 
I am quite amazed at the dullness of this sort of en- 
tertainment, in a country where the people are so 
distinguished for liveliness and wit in their common 
conversation. You would suppose, from the animation 
of feature, and vehemence of gesticulation, between 
two men in the street, that they were discussing some 
question of vital interest; but, upon inquiry, you 
find, they have been talking of the weather, or some 
such matter. At these balls there is little talking ; — 
perhaps some more serious business may be going 
on ; — for this is the great season of intrigue. Men 
and women assume the dresses and the characters of 
each other. The mask enables the lady to speak her 
mind freely, and whatever her fancy may be, if she 
fail of success, it is not through any backwardness 
on her part. The mask does away all distinctions of 
rank, as well as of sex, and the liberty and equality 
of the carnival seem to have a close affinity with the 
license of the Saturnalia, — or High Life below 
Stairs, — of the ancient Romans. 

January 30th and 31st. English November weather. 
Cold rain. Confined to the house. 

February 1st. Passed the morning in the Vatican. 
There is an alabaster urn in the gallery of vases, 
which was found in the Mausoleum of Augustus, and 
is supposed to have contained his ashes. The busts 
of Cato and Portia, if indeed they have been rightly 
so called, are interesting portraits ; — but we have 



ENGLISH CHURCH, 10 1 

been so accustomed to associate Kemble's noble 
physiognomy with our idea of Cato, that it is difficult 
not to feel a little disappointment at the first sight of 
this bust, which has not that strongly marked cast 
of features which we call Roman. The moral ex- 
pression, however, is that of the severe inflexible 
integrity, the esse quam videri, which Sallust describes, 
in his beautiful contrast between Cato and Caesar. 

Attended vespers at St. Peter's ; — the favourite 
lounge of the English ladies on Sunday evening. 

In the morning they attend the English church, 
which is now established with an eclat that scan- 
dalizes all orthodox Catholics. — The English pre- 
sumed so far upon their favour with the Pope, as to 
make an application to Consalvi, to authorize the in- 
stitution of a place of worship, according to the rites 
of the church of England. The Cardinal's answer 
might have been anticipated: " I cannot authorize 
what would be directly in opposition to the principles 
of our religion, and the laws of the state, but the 
government will not interfere with any thing you do 
quietly amongst yourselves, as long as it is done with 
propriety." The English church has accordingly 
been set up, and boasts a very numerous congrega- 
tion. — The door is thronged with as many carriages, 
as a new fancy chapel in London ; but though the 
Pope and Cardinal Consalvi seem inclined to let the 
English do any thing, the multitude regard this per- 
mission as a sin, and an abomination. 

M 



162 ENGLISH LADIES. 

Our fair country-women, not content with cele- 
brating the rites of an heretical church under the very 
nose of the Pope, go in the evening and elbow the 
Catholics out of their own chapel in St. Peter's. 
This attendance might at first have been attributed to 
devotional feelings ; but, as soon as the music is over, 
the ladies make their courtesy, and leave the priests 
to finish their prayers by themselves, while they 
parade up and down the Cathedral; which then be- 
comes the fashionable promenade. 

After vespers, on Sundays, all the equipages in 
Rome are to be found in the Corso, which then an- 
swers to our own Hyde Park ; and perhaps there are 
few places in the world where so many splendid 
equipages are to be seen, as at Rome ; in the number 
and appearance of the horses, and in the rich liveries 
of the trains of domestics, and running footmen. 

February 2nd. Holy-day. Grand ceremony of the 
Pope blessing the candles ; — hence, Caiidlemas-day. 
After the blessing, each Catholic received his candle, 
and there was a procession from the church. — The 
second of February is a gloomy day in Rome ; it has 
a black mark in the calendar, and is memorable in the 
history of national calamities. — Ball at Lady N.'s. — 
It was to have commenced at nine o'clock, but, out 
of deference to the Catholic guests, it was postponed 
till midnight, that no infringement might be committed 
upon the Holy-day. 

The English ladies have metamorphosed Rome into 



END OF THE CARNIVAL. 163 

a watering place. — One or other of them is " at home" 
every evening, and there are balls twice a week. — - 
The number of English, at present in Rome, is esti- 
mated at about 2,000, and it is said, that the influx 
of wealth occasioned by their residence has so in- 
creased the supply of money, as to produce some 
abatement in the rate of interest. We are in high 
favour, — and Inglese is a passport every where. — 
The Pope seems to be one of the few sovereigns in 
Europe, who retain any sense of gratitude for the 
good offices of England. The difference of senti- 
ment, in the Roman and Neapolitan courts, towards 
us, was illustrated in the most marked manner, by 
their respective treatment of the naval officers who 
were sent by Lord Exmouth with the Italian slaves, 
redeemed at Algiers. 

The partiality of the Pope to the English excites 
the jealousy of the natives ; and perhaps with some 
reason. At all ceremonies and spectacles, the guard 
allow the English to pass over that line which is im- 
passable to the Italians ; and I have, more than once, 
heard a native plead, Inglese, as a passport to follow 
me. Seats are prepared for the ladies, of which they 
are not backward in availing themselves, and I have 
almost expected, on some occasions, to see them su- 
persede the Pope in his own Chair of State. 

February 3rd. Shrove Tuesday ; — the last day and 
winding up of the Carnival. It was formerly the 
custom to carry a funeral procession of dead harle- 

M 2 



164* END OF THE CARNIVAL. 

quin, on this expiration of the Carnival. This how- 
ever is now discontinued ; but, at the conclusion of 
the horse-race on this day, every body carries a taper, 
and the great fun seems to consist in lighting your 
taper at your neighbour's candle, and then blowing 
out his flame ; — a practical joke, with which we may 
often trace an obvious analogy in the serious pastimes 
of Politics and Literature. 

So much for the Carnival of Rome ; of which one 
has heard tales of wonder, from the days of our nur- 
sery ; — and indeed it is only fit for the nursery. 
Nothing can be imagined more childish, and there is 
very little mixture of wit or humour to make the 
childishness amusing. 

February 4th. Ash Wednesday. Ceremony in 
the Pope's chapel, — Sprinkling of ashes on the heads 
of the Cardinals. — Mass as usual. — I have declined 
being presented to his Holiness, thinking with the 
Duke of Hamilton, that, when the kissing the toe is 
left out, the ceremony is deprived of all its amusement. 

The Pope receives strangers, by six at a time, in 
his own private apartment, in the plain dress of his 
order, without any pomp or state. The Italians in 
general dislike perfumes, and the Pope has a particu- 
lar antipathy to musk. On the last presentation, one 
of the company was highly scented with this odour, 
and Pius was constrained to dismiss the party almost 
immediately. 

February 5th. My health grows worse and worse ! 



MGRl SOMNIA. 165 

Constant irritation. — Day without rest, — night with- 
out sleep ; — at least, sleep without repose, and rest 
without recreation. 

If life, with health and wealth, and all " appliances 
and means to boot," be nothing but vanity and vexa- 
tion of spirit ; what is it, alas ! when deprived of all 
these embellishments ? 

February 6th. Beautiful day. — The sun shines 
upon every thing but me. — My spirits are as dark as 
November ; — but levins jit patientia ! Went to the 
Borghese Palace, to see and admire again Domini- 
chino's Sibyl. — His Chace of Diana too is a superb 
picture. — Raphael's Deposition from the Cross has 
too much of his first manner in the execution ; — 
though it is a noble work in conception and design. 
Here is a fine collection of Titians ; — but, with all 
their glowing beauties, I doubt, whether the Venetian 
painters ever give us more than the bodies, — either of 
women, or of men. 

February 7th and 8th. Very unwell ; — but De- 
mocritus was a wiser man than Heraclitus. Those 
are the wisest, and the happiest, who can pass through 
life as a play ; who 3 — without making a farce of it, 
and turning every thing into ridicule, — or running 
into the opposite extreme of tragedy, — consider the 
whole period, from the cradle to the coffin, as a well- 
bred comedy ; — and maintain a cheerful smile to the 
very last scene. For, what is happiness, but a Will- 
o-the-whisp, a delusion ; — a terra incognita, — in pur- 



166 JEGRI SOMNIA. 

suit of which thousands are tempted out of the har- 
bour of tranquillity, to be tossed about, the sport of 
the winds of passion, and the waves of disappoint- 
ment, to be wrecked perhaps at last on the rocks of 
despair ; — unless they be provided with the sheet- 
anchor of religion, — the only anchor that will hold 
in all weathers. This is a very stupid allegory, but 
it w T as preached to me this morning, by a beautiful 
piece of sculpture, in the studio of Maximilian La- 
boureur. A female figure of Hope has laid aside her 
anchor, and is feeding a monstrous chimaera. The 
care and solicitude of Hope, in tending this frightful 
creature, are most happily expressed ; and, if all 
stones spoke as afFectingly as this, Shakspeare's phrase 
of Sermons in stones would be more intelligible than 
it is. 



167 



CHAPTER VI. 

Journey to Naples — Pontine Marshes — System of 
Robbery — Capua — Naples — Climate — People — 
Pompeii — Museo Borbonico — Italian Dinners — 
Evening Parties — Italian Honesty — Neapolitan 
Army. 

February 9th. WlIEN the mind is full of fret 
and fever, the best remedy is to put the body in 
motion, which, by establishing an equilibrium be- 
tween the two, may perhaps restore something like 
tranquillity to the whole system. It was with this 
hope that I left Rome, before day-break, on my way 
to Naples, — as fast as four wheels and sixteen legs 
would carry me ; — and there is nothing like the 
rattling of wheels, to scare away blue devils. The 
road is excellent ; and the posting, however defective 
it may be in the appearance and appointments of the 
horses, is in point of celerity, equal to that on the 
best regulated road in England. 

The Pontine Marshes, of which one has heard 
such dreadful accounts, appeared to me to differ 
but little from many parts of Cambridgeshire ; 
though the livid aspect of the miserable inhabitants of 
this region is a shocking proof of its unwholesome- 
ness. — The short, but pathetic reply, made to an 



168 SYSTEM OF ROBBERY. 

inquiring traveller, is well known. — " How do you 
manage to live here ?" said he, to a group of these 
animated spectres — " We die !" — The excellent road 
which runs through these marshes for twenty-five 
miles, in a direct line, as straight as an arrow, was 
the work of the late Pope Pius VI., for which he will 
receive the thanks of every traveller ; but this, like 
most of his other undertakings, exposed him to the 
satire of his contemporaries, and it became a proverb, 
when talking of sums expended in extravagance, to 
say, " — sono andate alle paludi Pontine/' 

Early in the evening, we reached Terracina, — the 
ancient Anxur of the Romans. Its situation is 
strikingly beautiful, at the foot of the Apennines, and 
on the shore of the Mediterranean ; and it is backed, 
as Horace has accurately described, u scuds late canden- 
iibus" We were induced to halt here, by the repre- 
sentations that were made to us of the dangers of 
travelling after dark. It seems, we are now in the 
strong hold of the robbers, where they commit the 
most barefaced outrages. 

The man, who had no money in his pocket, might 
formerly dismiss all fear of robbers ; — but in these 
days, an empty purse is no longer a security. These 
modern desperadoes carry men away even from their 
homes, for the sake of the ransom, which they think 
they may extort for their liberation. We are told 
that two men were lately kidnapped from this neigh- 
bourhood,, and taken up into the mountains. The 



SYSTEM OF ROBBERY. 169 

friends of the one sent up nearly the sum that was 
demanded; — the other had no friends to redeem him. 
The robbers settled the affair, in the true spirit of 
that cold-blooded savage disposition, that has leisure 
to be sportive in its cruelty. They sent the first man 
back without his ears ; detaining these, as a set-off 
against the deficiency in the ransom ; — and the other 
poor fellow was returned in eight pieces ! — So much 
for Italian government. An edict has been lately 
issued against ransoms, as operating to encourage 
kidnapping. This may be an excellent law for the 
public ; but it would require the patriotism of Regulus, 
in an individual falling into the hands of these ma- 
rauders, to consider the public interest, in preference 
to his own. 

February 10th. Soon after quitting Terracina, we 
entered the Neapolitan territory, where the road 
begins to wind among the Apennines ; and, for many 
miles, it is one continued pass through a wild and 
rugged country. It seems intended by nature for the 
region of robbers. The government of Naples has 
adopted the most vigorous measures for the protection 
of travellers. Small parties of soldiers are encamped, 
at half a mile's distance from each other, during the 
whole line of road, from Terracina to Capua. But, 
quis custodiet ipsos custodes ? — it is said that the sol- 
diers themselves, after dark, lay aside their military 
dress, and act as banditti. The richness and lux- 
uriance of the country, between Terracina and 



170 FONDI. 

Naples, are very striking. Hedges of laurestinus, 
olives, and vineyards ; — orange and lemon groves, 
covered with fruit ; — myrtle, fig, and palm trees, give 
a new and softer character to the landscape. 

The orange-tree adds richness to the prospect, but 
its form is too clumpy, — too round and regular — to 
be picturesque. 

The inhabitants seem to increase in misery, in pro- 
portion to the improving kindness of the climate, and 
fertility of the soil. I have never seen such shocking- 
objects of human wretchedness, as in this smiling land 
of corn, wine, and oil. At Fondi, and Capua, the 
poor naked creatures seemed absolutely in a state of 
starvation, and scrambled eagerly for the orange 
peel which fell from our carriage. Though the greater 
part of this misery may be attributed to the faults of 
the government, yet some little seems to flow from 
the very blessings of a fine climate and rich soil, — for 
nothing will supply the want of industry. 

At Fondi we have a specimen of the old Appian 
way, and are jolted on the very pavement that Horace 
travelled over in his journey to Brundusium. There 
is too, in the Bureau of the Custom-House, just such 
a jack-in-office as Horace ridicules on the same occa- 
sion. 

The extortions of the various Custom-Houses are 
the most flagrant impositions, and I have always re- 
sisted them with success, when, from an unwillingness 
to submit to injustice, I have been foolish enough to 



, CAPUA NAPLES. 171 

encounter the inconvenience of maintaining the rights 
of travellers ; but, I believe, it is a wiser plan to get 
rid of all trouble by a small gratuity ; for, though 
they have no right to make you pay any thing, they 
may detain and search you, if they please, and an ex- 
emption from such delays is cheaply bought by the 
sacrifice of a few pauls. 

In consequence of a detention of two hours at 
Capua, which all travellers must reckon upon, we did 
not reach Naples till after dark. 

February 1 1th. First view of the bay of Naples ; 
— of which the windows of our lodging command a 
tine prospect. 

The weather is beautiful, and as warm as a June 
day in England. We sit at breakfast, without a lire, 
on a marble floor, — with the casements open, — en- 
joying the mild fresh breeze from the sea. The first 
view of Vesuvius disappoints expectation. You would 
not know that it was a burning mountain if you were 
not told so ; the smoke has only the appearance of 
that light passing cloud, which is so often seen hang- 
ing on the brow of a hill. Drove after breakfast to 
the Campo di Marte; where, to my great surprise, I 
found myself transported ten years backwards, into 
the middle of old school-fellows. 

There was a regular double-wicket cricket match 
going on ; — Eton against the world ; — and the world 
was beaten in one innings ! This disposition to carry 
the amusements of their own country along with them 



172 NAPLES. 

is a striking characteristic of the English. One of 
them imports a pack of hounds from England to Rome, 
and hunts regularly during the season, to the great 
astonishment of the natives.— At Florence, they esta- 
blish races on the Cascine, after the English manner, 
and ride their own horses, with the caps and jackets of 
English jockeys ; — and, everywhere, they make them- 
selves independent of the natives, and rather provide 
entertainment for themselves, than seek it from the 
same sources with the people amongst whom they may 
happen to be. What should we say in London, if the 
Turks, or the Persians, ox the Russians, or the French, 
were to make Hyde Park the scene of their national 
pastimes ? It is this exclusively national spirit, and 
the undisguised contempt for all other people, that 
the English are so accustomed to express in their 
manner and conduct, which have made us so generally 
unpopular on the continent. Our hauteur is the sub- 
ject of universal complaint, — and the complaint seems 
but too well founded. 

The view of Naples, from the hill immediately 
above it, forms a magnificent coup d'ceil. It combines 
all the features of the grand and the splendid ; — the 
town, — the Bay, — Vesuvius. — It would be complete, 
if the sea part of it were more enlivened with shipping. 

February 12th. Oh this land of zephyrs ! Yes- 
terday was as warm as July ; — to-day we are shivering, 
with a bleak easterly wind, and an English black 
frost. I find we are come to Naples too soon. It 



NAPLES. 173 

would have been quite time enough three months 
hence. Naples is one of the worst climates in Europe 
for complaints of the chest ; and the winter is much 
colder here, than at Rome, notwithstanding the lati- 
tude. Whatever we may think of sea air in England, 
the effect is very different here. The sea-breeze in 
Devonshire is mild and soft, — here, it is keen and 
piercing ; and, as it sets in regularly at noon, I doubt 
whether Naples can ever be oppressively hot, even in 
summer. 

We are lodged in the house of a Bishop ; — by 
which term must not be understood, a personage 
bearing the slightest resemblance to the dignified 
character we mean by it in England, but a little dirty 
looking chocolate-coloured creature, with no single 
pretension to the appearance of a gentleman. We 
occupy the whole of his house, except one bed-room, 
in which Monsignore lives like a snail in his shell. 
He will chatter for two hours, to extract a few carlini 
from our' pockets; and his great occupation and 
pleasure consist in scolding his servants ; — but some 
excuse may be made for this, as it is a duty which 
may seem to devolve upon him, from the law of 
celibacy. 

13th, 14th, and 15th. Confined to the house ; — 
the little Bishop endeavours to amuse the hours of 
my confinement, by exhibiting all his episcopal 
trappings, which he has done with the same sort of 
fiddle-faddle vanity, that an old maid of three-score 



174 NAPLES. 

would display the court-dresses of her youth. Nothing 
would please him but I must try on his mitres, while 
he stood by giggling and skipping, as if it has been 
the best joke in the world. He tells me, that he 
was in attendance upon the Pope during his captivity 
in France ; and was a witness of the scene between 
Napoleon and his Holiness, at which it had been 
erroneously stated, that Napoleon, in the heat of 
anger, was brutal enough to strike him. 

The Bishop describes it as an altercation ; in which 
Napoleon exhausted all his efforts, in endeavouring 
to overcome the Pope's objections to signing the 
treaty, which he, Napoleon, had dictated. The 
Pope remained firm, declaring that he could sign no 
treaty but in his own palace at Rome. Irritated by 
this inflexible opposition, Napoleon burst out with a 
sacre Dieu ! at being thwarted par tin petit Prttre, 
and with ruffian violence, forgetting what was due to 
the age and character of the venerable Pius, he did, 
according to the Bishop's account, lay hold of the 
Pope's garments : — but without striking him. 

The little Bishop, it seems, had a great curiosity to 
see England, and begged hard of Napoleon, for per- 
mission to make a visit to London for a few weeks; 
Napoleon, however, would never consent; but used 
to pull him playfully by the ear, and tell him, that he 
would be corrupted, and converted, in our Island of 
Heretics. 

16th. Spring again. — Delightful lounging day. 



NAPLES. 175 

The noise of Naples is enough to drive a nervous 
man mad. It would be difficult to imagine the 
eternal bustle and worry of the streets ; — the people 
bawling and roaring at each other in all directions; 
— beggars soliciting your charity with one hand, 
while they pick your pocket of your handkerchief 
with the other ; — and the carriages cutting their 
way through the crowd, with which the streets are 
thronged, with a fearful rapidity. It requires the 
patience of Job to carry on any dealings with the 
people, who are a most unconscionable set ; every 
bargain is a battle, and it seems to be an established 
rule, to ask, on all occasions, three times as much as 
is just. An Englishman cannot shew himself with- 
out being immediately surrounded by a troop of 
clamorous applicants, as ravenous as birds of prey 
about a carcase; — all anxious to have their share of 
the carrion. 

The Toledo is the principal street in Naples ; and 
a very splendid and showy street it is. The shops 
are gay and gaudy, and "the tide of human ex- 
istence" flows with almost as much volume, and a 
great deal more noise than at Charing-Cross ; but I 
think it cannot be compared with the solid and sub- 
stantial magnificence of the Cor so at Rome. This 
street is the very paradise of pick- pockets ; I detected 
a ragged urchin this morning in the act of extracting 
my handkerchief, but he looked up into my face, with 
such an arch, though piteous expression, that my 



176 NAPLES. 

resentment was disarmed, and he made his retreat, 
under a volley of eccellenzas, which he showered 
upon me with a grateful profusion. 

Upon arriving at Naples, after a residence in Rome, 
one is immediately struck with the inferiority of 
taste, displayed in the architectural ornaments of the 
town. 

After Rome, every thing at Naples looks poor and 
paltry ; — show and glitter seem to be the great 
objects of admiration ; — and every thing, as Forsyth 
says, is gilded, from the cupolas of the churches, to 
the pill of the apothecary. 

17th. The rate of living is much the same at 
Naples as at Rome. The ordinary price of lodgings, 
sufficient for the accommodation of two persons, is 
forty dollars a month, — about eight pounds English. 
Our dinner is supplied from the kitchen of a neigh- 
bouring archbishop, by his lordship's cook, at eight 
carlini per head ; — the carlino being about four-pence 
English. 

The wines of Naples are remarkably good, if care 
be taken to get them genuine, which is easily done 
where so many people make their own wine ; — but 
beware of the adulterations of the wine trade! The 
lacryma Christi is not the rare precious liqueur, which 
it has been sometimes described, but a strong-bodied 
generous wine, which is made in great quantities. 
The vineyards, that supply this liquor, are situated at 
the foot of Vesuvius, It appears to be very well 



POMPEII. 177 

calculated for the English taste, and it is said to hear 
the voyage without injury. The cost of a pipe, with 
all the expense of importing it to England, duty and 
freight included, would not amount to more than 80/. ; 
and Mr. Grandorges, the host of the Alb ergo del 
Sole, and the proprietor of a magazine of all sorts of 
English goods, tells me, that he has already sent many 
pipes to London. 

All sorts of English manufactures are to be found 
at the above-mentioned magazine, which can only be 
accounted for by the partiality of the English to the 
productions of their own country ; for the importation 
duty to the Neapolitan government is no less than 60 
per cent: 

The Neapolitans seem to like us as little as the 
Portuguese, and the temper of the government is con- 
stantly breaking out in little spiteful exertions of 
power, directed against English subjects. 

February 18th. Excursion to Pompeii. The re- 
mains of this town afford a truly interesting spectacle. 
It is like a resurrection from the dead ; — the progress 
of time and decay is arrested, and you are admitted 
to the temples, the theatres, and the domestic privacy 
of a people who have ceased to exist for seventeen 
centuries. Nothing is wanting but the inhabitants. 
Still, a morning's walk through the solemn silent 
streets of Pompeii, will give you a livelier idea of 
their modes of life, than all the books in the world. 

N 



9 
# 



178 POMPEII. 

They seem, like the French of the present day, to 
have existed only in public. 

Their theatres, temples, basilicas, forums, are on 
the most splendid scale, but in their private dwellings, 
we discover little or no attention to comfort The 
houses in general have a small court, round which the 
rooms are built, which are rather cells than rooms ; — 
the greater part are without windows, receiving light 
only from the door. 

There are no chimneys ; — the smoke of the kitchen 

which is usually low and dark, must have found its 

way through a hole in the ceiling. The doors are 

so low, that you are obliged to stoop to pass through 

them. There are some traces of Mosaic flooring, 

and the stucco paintings, with which all the walls 

are covered, are but little injured ; and upon being 

wetted, they appear as fresh as ever. Brown, red, 

yellow, and blue, are the prevailing colours. It is 

pity that the contents of the houses could not have 

been allowed to remain in the state in which they 

were found ; — but this would have been impossible. 

Travellers are the greatest thieves in the world. As 

it is, they will tear down, without scruple, the whole 

side of a room, to cut out a favourable specimen of 

the stucco painting. If it were not for this pilfering 

propensity, we might have seen every thing as it really 

was left at the time of this great calamity ; even to 

the skeleton, which was found with a purse of gold 



POMPEII. 179 

in its hand, trying to run away from the impending 
destruction, and exhibiting " the ruling passion strong 
in death" in the last object of its anxiety. In the 
stocks of the guard-room, which were used as a 
military punishment, the skeletons of four soldiers 
were found sitting ; but these poor fellows have now 
been released from their ignominious situation, and 
the stocks, with every thing else that was moveable, 
have been placed in the Museum ; the bones being 
consigned to their parent clay. 

Pompeii therefore exhibits nothing but bare walls, 
and the walls are without roofs ; for these have 
been broken in, by the weight of the shower of ashes 
and pumice stones, that caused the destruction of 
the town. 

The Amphitheatre is very perfect, as indeed are 
the other two theatres, intended for dramatic repre- 
sentations ; though it is evident that they had sus- 
tained some injury from the earthquake, which, as 
we learn from Tacitus, had already much damaged 
this devoted town, before its final destruction by the 
eruption of Vesuvius : 

" Etmotu terrw celebre Campanice oppidum Pompeii, 
magna ex parte proruit" Tacitus, Ann. xv. c. 22. 

The paintings, on the walls of the Amphitheatre* 
represent the combats of gladiators and wild beasts, 
the dens of which remain just as they were seven- 
teen hundred years ago. 

The two theatres for dramatic entertainments are 

N 2 



180 POMPEII. 

as close together as our own Drury Lane, and 
Covent Garden. The larger one, which mi^ht have 
contained five thousand persons, like the amphi- 
theatres, had no roof, but was open to the light of 
day. The stage is very much circumscribed — there 
is no depth; and there are consequently no side 
scenes : the form and appearance are like that of our 
own theatres, when the drop-scene is down, and 
forms the extent of the stage. In this back scene of 
the Roman stage, which, instead of canvass, is com- 
posed of unchangeable brick and marble, are three 
doors ; and there are two others on the sides, an- 
swering to our own stage doors. It seems that it 
was the theatrical etiquette, that the premiers roles 
should have their exits, and entrances, through the 
doors of the back scene, and the inferior ones through 
those on the sides. 

The little theatre is covered, and in better pre- 
servation than the other; and, it is supposed, that 
this was intended for musical entertainments. 

The Temple of Isis has suffered little injury. The 
statues alone have been taken away. — You see the 
very altar, on which the victims were offered; — 
and you may now ascend without ceremony the 
private stairs, which led to the sanctum sanctorum 
of the Goddess; where those mysterious rites were 
celebrated, the nature of which may be shrewdly 
guessed from the curiosities discovered there, which 
are now to be seen in the Museo Borbonico. In a 



POMPEII. 181 

niche, on the outside of the temple, was a statue of 
Harpocrates — the God of Silence — who was most ap- 
propriately placed here ; but 

" Foul deeds will rise, 
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes." 

The streets are very narrow ; the marks of wheels 
on the pavement shew that carriages were in use ; 
but, there must have been some regulation to pre- 
vent their meeting each other; for, one carriage 
would have occupied the whole of the street, except 
the narrow trottoir, raised on each side for foot pas- 
sengers, for whose accommodation there are also 
raised stepping-stones, in order to cross from one 
side to the other. The distance between the wheel- 
tracks is four feet three inches. 

There is often an emblem over the door of a 
house, that determines the profession of its former 
owner. — The word, " Salve" on one, seems to de- 
note that it was an inn, as we have, in our own days, 
the sign of " The Salutation." — In the outer brick- 
work of another, is carved an emblem, which shocks 
the refinement of modern taste ; but which has been 
an object even of religious adoration, in many coun- 
tries, probably as a symbol of creative power. The 
same device is found on the stucco of the inner court 
of another house, with this intimation — Hie habitat 
Felicitas — a sufficient explanation of the character of 
its inhabitants. 

Many of the paintings on the walls are very 



182 POMPEII. 

elegant in the taste and design, and they often assist 
us in ascertaining the uses for which the different 
rooms were intended. For example ; — in the baths*, 
we find Tritons, and Naiads ; in the bed-chambers, 
Morpheus scatters his poppies ; and in the eating- 
room, a sacrifice to iEsculapius teaches us, that we 
should eat, to live ; — and not live, to eat. — In one 
of these rooms are the remains of a triclinium. 

A baker's shop is as plainly indicated, as if the 
loaves were now at his window. There is a mill for 
grinding the corn, and the oven for baking; and 
the surgeon, and the druggist have also been traced, 
by the quality of the articles found in their respective 
dwellings. 

But the most complete specimen that we have of 
an ancient residence, is the villa, which has been 
discovered, at a small distance without the gate. It 
is on a more splendid scale, than any of the houses 
in the town itself, and it has been preserved with 
scarcely any injury. 

Some have imagined that this was the Pompeia- 
num — the Pompeian Villa of Cicero. Be this as it 
may, — it must have belonged to a man of taste. 
Situated on a sloping bank, the front entrance opens, 
as it were, into the first floor; below which, on the 
garden side, into which the house looks — for the 
door is the only aperture on the road-side — is a 

* In one of the baths, which probably belonged to a female, 
is a pretty and well-preserved fresco of the story of Actseon. 



POMPEII. 183 

ground floor, with spacious arcades, and open rooms, 
all facing the garden ; — and above, are the sleeping 
rooms. The walls and ceilings of this villa are 
ornamented with paintings of very elegant design, 
all which have a relation to the uses of the apart- 
ments in which they are placed. In the middle of 
the garden there is a reservoir of water, surrounded 
by columns, and the ancient well still remains. 
Though we have many specimens of Roman glass, in 
their drinking vessels, it has been doubted whether 
they were acquainted with the use of it for windows. 
Swinburne however, in describing Pompeii, says " in 
the window of a bed-chamber some panes of glass 
are still remaining." This would seem to decide the 
question; — but they remain no longer. The host 
was fond of conviviality, if we may judge from the 
dimensions of his cellar, which extends under the 
whole of the house and the arcades also ; and many 
of the amphorce remain, in which the wine was stowed. 
It was here that the skeletons of seven and twenty 
poor wretches were found, who took refuge in this 
place from the fiery shower that would have killed 
them at once, to suffer the lingering torments of 
being starved to death. 

It was in one of the Porticos, leading to the 
outward entrance, that the skeleton, supposed to be 
that of the master of the house, was found ; with 
a key in one hand, and a purse of gold in the other. 

So much for Pompeii: — I lingered amongst its 



184 POMPEII. 

ruins, till the close of evening ; and have seldom 
passed a day with feelings of interest so strongly 
excited, or with impressions of the transient nature 
of all human possessions so strongly enforced, as by 
the solemn solitudes of this resuscitated town*. 

February 19th. Passed the morning in the Museo 
Borbonico ; — a magnificent establishment, containing 
rich collections of statues, pictures, and books. — 
Here too, are deposited the greater part of the 
curiosities found at Herculaneum and Pompeii, which 
were formerly at Portici. When the King was 
obliged to fly from Naples to Sicily, he took with 
him, from Portici, every thing that could be easily 
packed up ; these articles have now been brought 
back, and are arranged in the Museo Borbonico. 

Here you see — " the ancient most domestic or- 
naments," — the furniture, — the kitchen utensils, — the 
surgical instruments, — the trinkets, $%•. #c, of the 
old Romans. 

This collection illustrates Solomon's apophthegm, 
that there is nothing new under the sun. — There is 
much that, with a little scouring, would scarcely 
appear old fashioned at the present day. This is not 
surprising in many of the articles, considering that 
our makers of pottery, and tea urns, have been long 

* Romanelli's hint is worth attention, who recommends tra- 
vellers to enter Pompeii, by the way of the tombs, that so the 
interest may be kept alive, by reserving the more important 
objects until the last. 



MUSEO BORBONICO: 185 

busied in copying from these ancient models. But it 
is the same with other things ; the bits of the bridles, 
the steel-yard and scales for weighing, the lamps, 
the dice, the surgeon's probe, are all very much like 
our own. We seem to have improved principally 
upon the Romans, in hardware and cutlery. Their 
locks and keys, scissors and needles, are very clumsy 
articles ; and their seals, rings, and necklaces, look 
as if they had been made at the blacksmith's forge. 
The toilets of the ladies, too, were not so elegantly 
furnished with knick-knacks in those days ; — we have 
specimens of the whole arrangement of their dressing 
tables, even to their little crystal boxes of essences 
and cosmetics. Their combs would scarcely compare 
with those which we use in our stables ; and there 
is nothing that would be fit for a modern lady's 
dressing case. We find nothing like knives and forks. 

The weight of the steel-yard is generally the head 
of an Emperor. There is a sun-dial — the gnomon 
of which is the hinder part of a pig, with the tail 
sticking up, to cast the shadow. The tesserce, or 
tickets of admission to the theatres, are of ivory ; 
and I remarked one, with the name of the poet 
JEschylus, written on it in Greek characters. The 
apparatus of the kitchen may be studied in all its 
details, through every variety of urn, kettle, and 
saucepan. The armory presents to us the very helmets, 
and breast-plates, and swords, with which the Romans 
gained the empire of the world ; in a word, every 



186 MUSEO BORBONICO. 

thing here excites the liveliest interest, even to the 
tops, and play-things, which prove the antiquity of 
our own school-boy amusements ; but in these, as in 
other matters, the poverty of human invention is 
strikingly displayed ; — for, whether we ride upon 
sticks, or play at odd and even, we find that we are 
only copying the pastimes of children, who were wont 
two thousand years ago 

" Ludere par impar, equitare in arundine longa." 
In another quarter of the museum are collected those 
curiosities, which,, interesting as they are, as throwing 
light upon the manners of ancient times, are justly 
offensive to modern delicacy. The most extraordinary 
of these are, the ornaments and decorations of the 
Temple of Isis, which will scarcely bear a detailed 
description*. 

* The phallic ornament, worn round the necks of the ladies, 
as a charm against sterility, appears in every variety of ma- 
terial, — gold, silver, and coral ; and invention seems to have been 
racked, to represent it under every variety of shape. 

Sometimes it is a snail peeping out of its shell ; — sometimes 
a Cupid astride, is crowning it with a chaplet ; — and sometimes 
it terminates in some frightful reptile, that turns round with an 
expression of rage ; — illustrating perhaps the passage of Horace ; 
— " mea cum conferbuit ira." What can demonstrate more 
clearly, the coarseness and corruption of ancient taste ; unless 
it be the monstrous conjunctions, consecrated by their abomi- 
nable superstition, which are still more shocking evidences of 
the depravity of their imaginations. There is an example of these, 
in a piece of sculpture, dug up at Herculaneum, now in this mu- 
seum, which exhibits great powers of expression and execution ; 
but, it had better have remained buried under the ruins of Her- 
culaneum. 



MUSEO BORBONICO. 187 

February 20th. The weather is beyond measure 
severe and trying ; — with a hot sun, there is a winter 
wind of the most piercing bitterness. A pulmonary 
invalid had better avoid Naples at any time, but 
certainly during the winter, unless he wish to illus- 
trate the proverb, " Vedi Napoli epo' mori." It is 
not easy for such an invalid, if his case is notorious, 
to get lodgings, or at least he will on that account 
be asked a much higher price for them ; for consump- 
tion is here considered to be contagious, and in case 
of death, the whole of the furniture in the occupation 
of the deceased is burnt, and his rooms are fumi- 
gated and white-washed. 

Drove to Capo di Monte, a palace of the King, 
in the environs of the town, — Palaces, however, are 
the most tiresome things in the world, for one is just 
like another ; — all glitter and tinsel. Here are some 
of the best works of Camuccini. — There was one 
that pleased me much, representing Pericles, Socrates, 
and Alcibiades, brought by Aspasia to admire the 
works of Phidias. This has all the fidelity of an 
historical picture, for the faces have been closely 
copied from the antique marbles. 

21st. Again to the Museo. — The library is said 
to contain 150,000 volumes, and it seems to be well 
furnished with the literature of all nations. Per- 
mission is easily obtained here, as at the British 
Museum, to enjoy the privilege of reading. Amongst 
the curious manuscripts, I was shewn the Aminta of 



188 MUSEO BORBONICO. 

Tasso, in his own hand-writing, which by the way 
was a vile scrawl. 

In another quarter, is a large collection of Etrus- 
can vases, in which the elegance of the form shames 
the badness of the painting. It is strange that a 
people, who seem to have had an intuitive tact for 
the elegant and the beautiful, in the form and shape 
of their vessels, should have had so little taste in the 
art of design. 

In the collection of pictures there is much that is 
curious, and much that is beautiful. In the former 
class, are the specimens of the first essays of the first 
founders of the art of painting in Italy. It is curious 
to trace its progress through the different stages of 
improvement, till it was at last brought to perfection, 
in the age of Raphael. 

In the same class, is an original picture of Colum- 
bus, by Parmeggianino ; and a portrait of Philip the 
Second of Spain, which looks the narrow-minded, 
cold-blooded tyrant, that he was in reality. 

And, lastly, here is the original sketch of the 
Last Judgment, by Michael Angelo, from which he 
afterwards painted his great picture. It has been 
coloured by a later hand. — It ought to be hung up in 
the Sistine chapel, as a key to make the fresco 
intelligible ; for, much is here seen distinctly, that 
is quite faded in the large picture. For instance, 
time has done for Cardinal Biagio, what he in vain 
asked of the Pope ; and it is only in this sketch, that 



MUSEO BORBONICO. 189 

the bitter resentment of the painter is recorded, which 
placed him amongst the damned, in the gripe of a 
malignant daemon, — who is dragging him down to the 
bottomless pit, in a manner at once the most fero- 
cious and degrading. 

In the latter class, there are many that deserve 
enumeration. Two Holy Families by Raphael, 
are full of the almost heavenly graces with which 
he, above all other painters, has embellished this 
subject. 

There are two landscapes ; — and a wild witch, on 
a wilder heath, in the very wildest style of Salvator 
Rosa. 

Titian's Danae is all that is lovely and luscious ; 
and there are some charming pictures of Corregio ; 
— but, I believe, this collection altogether detained 
me less than it deserved ; for, after feasting the 
imagination, in the galleries of Florence, and Rome, 
in the contemplation of the very finest efforts of the 
pencil, it requires equal excellence to stimulate the 
languid attention, and satisfy the increasing fasti- 
diousness of the taste. This is a cruel deduction 
from the pleasure which is expected to be derived 
from familiarity with excellence, and improvement 
in knowledge; so that, after all, it may be doubted, 
whether we grow happier, as we grow wiser ; and, 
perhaps, those who are at the most pains — to see 
the best that is to be seen — to read the best that is to 
be read— and to hear the best that is to be heard— 



190 ITALIAN DINNERS. 

are only labouring to exhaust the sources of inno- 
cent gratification, and incapacitating themselves from 
future enjoyment, by approaching nearer to that state 
which has been so truly described as a state of 

" Painful pre-eminence ourselves to view, 
Above life's pleasures, and its comforts too !" 

February 22nd. Yesterday we had December's 
wind ; to-day we have November's rain ; and such 
is the climate of Naples. 

Dined with an Italian family, to whom I brought 
letters of recommendation from Rome. This was 
the first occasion that I have had of seeing an Italian 
dress dinner; — but there was scarcely any thing 
strange to excite remark. The luxury of the rich is 
nearly the same throughout Europe. Some trifling 
particularities struck me, though I think the devia- 
tions from our own customs were all improvements. 
There was no formal top and bottom to the table, 
which was round, and the host could not be deter- 
mined from his place. All the dishes were removed 
from the table as they were wanted, carved by a 
servant at the side-board, and handed round. Each 
person was provided with a bottle of wine, and a 
bottle of water, as with a plate, and knife and fork. 
There was no asking to drink wine, nor drinking of 
healths ; no inviting people to eat, nor carving for 
them. All these duties devolved on the domestics ; 
and the conversation, which, in England, as long as 
dinner lasts, is often confined to the business of eating, 



* ITALIAN DINNERS. 191 

with all its important auxiliaries of sauces and season- 
ings, took its free course, unchecked by any interrup- 
tions arising out of the business in hand. This is 
surely the perfection of comfort — to be able to eat 
and drink what you please without exciting attention 
or remark ; — and I cannot but think, it would be a 
great improvement upon our troublesome fashion of 
passing the bottle, to substitute the Italian mode of 
placing a separate decanter to each person. 

Economy, in a country where wine is so dear as 
in England, can be the only objection ; for, though I 
have heard some persons argue, that the pleasure of 
drinking is increased by a common participation in 
the very same bottle ; such a notion can scarcely 
be founded in reason, unless it is allowed that this 
pleasure is still more exquisitely enjoyed in the tap- 
room, where each man partakes of the same mug, 
without even the intervention of glasses. For my 
part, I am for extending the privilege of Idomeneus's 
cup to every guest : 

Er>3% , wawep l^toj, irmiv, ore Qvjxog hvvyoi, 

Iliad, 4. 262. 

But, an invitation to dinner is a rare occurrence in 
Italy ; for dinner is not here, generally speaking, the 
social feast of elaborate enjoyment, which we are 
accustomed to make it in England, — occupying a 
considerable portion of the day, and constituting 
the principal object of meeting, — but a slovenly 



192 EVENING PARTIES. 

meal, despatched in haste, and in dishahille ; — and 
it is for this reason that an Englishman is rarely 
invited, except on extraordinary occasions, to partake 
of it. 

In the evening, to a conversazione, at the arch- 
bishop of Tarento's; — one of the finest and most 
respectable-looking old men I ever saw. The in- 
tercourse of society is perhaps managed better abroad 
than in England. The system of being at home in 
the evening, to those persons with whom you are 
desirous of associating, without the formality of send- 
ing a special invitation, facilitates that pleasant and 
easy society, which enlivens, without at all destroying, 
the retirement of domestic life ; — and it is carried on 
with no greater expense than a few additional cups of 
coffee, or glasses of lemonade. How much more 
rational is such a friendly intercourse, than the formal 
morning visits, or the heartless evening routs, of our 
own country. 

February 23rd. Again to the Museo. — Examined 
the ingenious machinery employed to unroll the 
manuscripts found at Herculaneum. These are re- 
duced to a state of tinder, but the writing is still 
legible. From the specimen that I saw, it seemed 
necessary, however, to supply at least a fifth, by 
conjecture. Curiosity is kept alive till the last, for 
the name of the author is inscribed on the beginning 
of the manuscript, and this of course cannot appear 
till the whole roll is unravelled. The collection of 



■MUSEO BORB0NIC0. 193 

statues is very extensive, but I must repeat, of the 
statues, what I have^said of the pictures. After the 
Tribune, — the Capitol, — and the Vatican, — what re- 
mains to be seen in sculpture ? — and yet the Venus 
callipyge is a most beautiful creature ; — but how shall 
we excuse her attitude ? 

The famous Famese Hercules may be calculated to 
please an anatomist, but certainly no one else. This 
is the work of Glycon, and is perhaps the allusion of 
Horace, in his first epistle, where he mentions the 
" inmcti membra Glyconis /' — a passage that does not 
seem to be satisfactorily explained. 

The Flora is generally admired ; but a colossal 
statue is seldom a pleasing object, and never when 
it represents a woman. Gigantic proportions are 
absolutely inconsistent with female loveliness. 

February 24th to 28th. Confined to the house 
with a cough ; — the effect of the bitter wind that 
has been blowing upon us from the mountains. — 
The Lord deliver me from another winter at 
Naples ! — Our episcopal landlord turns out a very 
caitiff. The last occupier of our lodgings — a young 
Englishman, who was confined to his bed by ill- 
ness — had occasion to send a bill to his banker's 
to be cashed; on which errand he employed the 
servant of Monsignore. As it has been imputed 
to Italian bankers, that they sometimes mis-count 
dollars, he took the precaution to examine immedi- 
ately the contents of his bag. Finding that there was 

o 



194 ITALIAN HONESTY. 

a deficiency of twenty dollars, he summoned the 
servant, and being unable to get any explanation, 
he was preparing a note to the banker to institute 
an inquiry, when the man confessed that his master 
had stopped him, upon his return, and taken twenty 
dollars out of the bag ; — trusting, as it seems, to the 
proverbial carelessness of our countrymen. If a bishop 
will do this, what might we not expect from the 
poorer classes of society ? and yet I must confess, I 
have never met with any such dishonesty in the lower 
orders, except amongst the pick-pockets in the Strada 
di Toledo. 

In an arbitrary government, like that of Naples, 
a stranger is surprised by the freedom of speech, 
which prevails on political subjects. The people seem 
full of discontent. In the coffee-houses, restaura- 
teurs, nay even in the streets, you hear the most 
bitter invectives against the government, and tirades 
against the Royal family. 

One would imagine, from such general complain- 
ings, that the government was in danger, — but all 
seems to evaporate in talk ; and indeed Gen. Church 
(an Englishman) at the head of a body of 5,000 
foreign troops, is engaged in stopping the mouths of 
the more determined reformers; which may probably 
explain the secret of the stability of the present 
system. 

It must be owned that the people have some 
grounds for complaint ; for, the King has not only 



NEAPOLITAN ARMY. 195 

retained all the imposts, which Murat, under the 
pressure of war, found it necessary to levy, but he 
has also revived many of the ways and means of the 
old regime. The property tax alone amounts to 
twenty-five per cent. ; and there is a sort of excise, by 
which every roll that is eaten by the beggar in the 
streets, is made to contribute a portion to the govern- 
ment purse. 

The military, both horse and foot, make a very 
respectable appearance. To the eye, they are as 
fine soldiers as any in Europe ; and the grenadiers of 
the King's guard, dressed in the uniform of our own 
guards, might be admired even in Hyde Park. But, it 
appears that they do not like fighting. The Austrian 
general Nugent married a Neapolitan Princess, and 
is now commander in chief of that very army, which 
under Murat, ran away from him like a flock of 
sheep. 

It is the fashion to consider soldiers as mere ma- 
chines, and to maintain, that discipline will make 
soldiers of any men whatever. This may be true as 
a general rule ;— but may not a slavish submission to 
a despotic government for a long period of years, 
and confirmed habits of effeminate indolence, on the 
part of any people, produce an hereditary taint in 
their blood, — gradually making what was habit in the 
parent, constitution in the offspring, — and so deterio- 
rate the breed, that no immediate management or 
discipline shall be able to endue such a race with the 

O 2 



196 NEAPOLITAN ARMY. 

qualities necessary to constitute a soldier ? If this 
maxim need illustration, I would appeal to the con- 
duct of the Neapolitan army in Murat's last cam- 
paign. 



197 



CHAPTER VII. 

Virgil" 3 Tomb — Puzzuoli—Baice — Monte Nuovo — 
Avernus — Tomb of Scipio — Solfaterra — Grotta del 
Cane — Sirocco Wind — Gaming Tables — Quay — 
Burial of the Dead — Portici Museum — Murat — 
Vesuvius — Herculaneum — Lazzaroni — Opera. 

March 1st. 1 HE summer sun of to-day brings 
me again out of my hiding-place. — Explored the 
Grotto of Pausilippo ; and the Tomb of Virgil, — as 
it is called ; though there is little doubt, but that the 
poet was buried on the other side of the bay. The 
tomb contains the following inscription, which en- 
graved as it is, without any punctuation, presents a 
tough morsel of Latinity — 

QUI CINERES TVMVLI VESTIGIA CONDITVR OL1M 
TLLE UMC QVI CECINIT PASCVA RVRA DVCES. 

But, the addition of a note of interrogation after 
Vestigia, will clear away the difficulty. Eustace, 
in his account, gives us Virgil's own distich of Mantua 
me genuit, &c., but the real inscription is as I have 
transcribed it. How this came to be substituted for 
Virgil's, may be difficult to explain ; — but being there, 
it is more difficult to understand why Eustace should 
give an inscription that does not exist, when the true 
one was staring him in the face. 



198 STRADA NUOVA. 

This tomb ought to yield a good revenue to the 
proprietor. The English pilgrims are the most nu- 
merous. A bay-tree did grow out of the top of it ; 
but the keeper told me, that the English had pulled 
off the leaves, as long as any remained ; in the same 
spirit, I suppose, which induced the ladies in England 
to pull the hairs out of the tail of Platoff's horse. 
It has been since cut up altogether, and not a root is 
left to mark the spot. 

Beautiful drive along the coast, on the Strada 
Nuova. — This road was the work of Murat, who has 
done a vast deal to improve and embellish Naples. 
It was he, who enlarged and laid out the Villa Reale, 
in the English style of shrubbery, which forms a de- 
lightful promenade, between the quay and the sea. 

In the centre of this walk is the group of Dirce, 
commonly called the Toro Farnese. — Pliny tells us 
it was cut out of a single block — 

" Zethus et Amphion, ac Dirce, et Taurus, vincu- 
lumque ex eodem lapide, Rhodo advecta, opera Apol- 
lonii et Taurisci" 

But the integrity of the original block has been 
much invaded ; for, the head and arms of Dirce ; 
the head and arms of Antiope ; the whole of Am- 
phion and Zethus, except the bodies and one leg ; 
and the legs and rope of the bull, are modern. 

March 2d. Excursion to Pusmoli and Baice ; 
where all is fairy ground. — Here you may wander 
about, with Virgil and Horace in your hand, and 



PUZZUOLI. BAliE. 



199 



moralize over the changes that time has produced. — 
How are the mighty fallen ! — Here the great ones of 
the earth retired, from the noise and smoke of Rome, 
to their voluptuous villas. Baiae was the Brighton, 
the Cheltenham, — or, perhaps, with more propriety, 
the Bath of Rome ; — for it was a winter retreat. 
The rage for building was carried to an extent that 
made it necessary to encroach upon the sea : — 

" Contracta pisces ssquora sentiunt 

Jactis in altum molibus. Hue frequens 
Csementa demittit redemptor." 

But their redemptors built with more solid materials 
than our modern builders, whose structures will never 
endure to afford the remnant of a ruin, seventeen 
hundred years hence, to our curious posterity, as a 
sample of the style of building of their ancestors. 

One might fancy that Horace had been gifted with 
a prophetic sight of the changes that have taken place, 
when he wrote 

" Debemur morti nos nostraque; sive receptus 
Terra Neptunus classes Aquilonibus arcet 
"Regis opus :" 

Who can recognise, in the present appearance of 
the Lucrine Lake, any vestiges of the superb descrip- 
tion of Virgil ? 

" An memorem portus, Lucrinoque addita claustra : 
Atque indignatum magnis stridoribus sequor, 
Iulia qua ponto longe sonat undo refuso, 
Tyrrhenusque fretis immittitur sestus Avernis ? M 



200 MONTE NUOVO. 

But, it is thus that the fashion of this world 
passeth away. The lovely Lucrine, — the scene of 
imperial Regattas, — is now a mere morass, covered 
with grass and rushes. It was curtailed of its fair 
proportions, and indeed almost filled up, by the 
monstrous birth of the Monte Nuovo — the offspring 
of a volcano — which burst out in 1538 with a 
fearful eruption of flames and fire ; the ashes of 
which, after being shot up into the air to an im- 
mense height, in their descent formed this prodigious 
mountain of cinders. 

Avernus has no longer any thing diabolical about 
it. The axe of Agrippa, by levelling the woods that 
enveloped it in impenetrable gloom, and mysterious 
dread, long ago deprived the lake of all its terrors. 
Silius Italicus describes the change which had already 
taken place in his time : — 

" Ille, olim populis dictum Styga, nomine verso, 
Stagna inter celebrem nunc mitia monstrat Avernum." 

Popular superstition might well fix upon such a 
spot, situated in the midst of volcanoes, and sup- 
posed to be of unfathomable depth, as the mouth of 
hell: Homer probably followed the real belief of 
his time, in sending Ulysses thither; — and Virgil 
followed Homer. But if Italy has furnished the hells 
of the poets, it has also supplied them with the scenery 
of Elysium. Milton seems to have culled the flowers 
of his delicious garden of Eden, from the soft and 
sublime scenery of Tuscany ; and the charming re- 



AVERNUS TOMB OF SCIPIO. 201 

treats in the neighbourhood of Avernus, were pro- 
bably the prototypes of Virgil's habitations of the 
blessed; though he could scarcely intend to fix the 
geographical position of his Elysium, which, by the 
concluding words, seems evidently transferred to 
another world — " Solemque suum sua sidera norunt." 

From hence we made a pilgrimage to Torre di 
Patria, — the ancient Liternum ; — the retreat and the 
tomb of Scipio. The word " Patria" is still legible 
in the wall of a watch-tower, which, you are told, is 
all that remains of the angry epitaph which he dic- 
tated himself: — " Ingrata Patria, neque enim mea 
ossa habebis." It is evident however, that this tower 
is of modern construction, and therefore, the inscrip- 
tion on it only affords evidence of the tradition, that 
this was the place of Scipio 's interment. And this 
tradition is at least as old as Pliny, who tells as there 
was a notion, that a dragon watched over the manes 
of Scipio, in a cavern at Liternum. — Plin. Nat. Hist., 
lib. xvi. cap. 44». 

Such traditions have usually some foundation in 
truth. But it is extraordinary that the memory of 
so great a man should not have outlived his grave 
long enough to enable history to record where he 
was buried. All that we gain from Livy however 
on this point, rests on the same vague tradition: — 
" Silentium deinde de Africano fuit. Vitam Literni 
egit, sine desiderio urbis. Morientem rure eo ipso 
loco sepeliri se jussisse ferunt, monumentumque ibi 



202 SOLFATERRA. 

wdificari, nefunus sibi in ingrata patria fieret. " A heap 
of stones is all that remains of the ruins of Liternum ! 

We hurried rapidly over the ruins of Puzzuoli, in 
our way home. A peasant shewed us a tomb con- 
taining three Sarcophagi, which he had lately dis- 
covered in his vineyard. He complained bitterly 
that the King had sent a party of soldiers to remove 
one of these to his Museo, without giving him any 
remuneration. Further excavation might lead to the 
discovery of curious remains of antiquity ;— but who 
will excavate on such terms? The bones in the 
Sarcophagi were in perfect preservation. 

Solfaterra is well worth seeing. — Murat carried 
on sulphur works here, for his domestic manufacture 
of gun-powder. — Three pounds of stone yield one 
pound of sulphur. Solfaterra is the crater of an 
extinguished volcano, — it is a fearful spot ; — the smoke 
now bursts out in many places ; — the whole area is 
hollow ; — and the ground vibrates when you stamp 
with your foot. Water is found at the depth of 
thirty feet. 

Alum works are also carried on here. Earth 
and water are put into a large earthen vessel, which 
is sunk up to the brim in the soil, the heat of which 
causes the water to boil, and, as this evaporates, 
the alum is deposited in a crystallized state on the 
sides of the vessel. 

It is from the waters of Solfaterra, that the 
baths of Pnzzuoli are supplied ; which are said to 



GROTTA DEL CANE. 203 

be very efficacious in cutaneous and rheumatic dis- 
orders. 

March 3rd. The weather continuing fine, we 
drove to the lake of Agnano ; situated in a delight- 
fully retired valley, surrounded by hills. On the 
border of this lake, is the Grotta del Cane. Tra- 
vellers have made a great display of sensibility, in 
their strictures upon the spectacle exhibited here ; 
but, to all appearance, the dog did not care much 
about it. It may be said with truth of him, that 
he is used to it ; for he dies many times a day, 
and he went to the place of execution wagging 
his tail. 

He became insensible in two minutes ; — but upon 
being laid on the grass, he revived from his trance 
in a few seconds, without the process of immersion 
in the lake, which is generally mentioned as ne- 
cessary to his recovery. From the voracity with 
which he bolted down a loaf of bread which I bought 
for him, the vapour does not appear to injure the 
animal functions. 

Addison seems to have been very particular in his 
experiments upon the vapour of this cavern. He 
found that a pistol would not take fire in it ; but, 
upon laying a train of gun-powder, and igniting it 
beyond the sphere of the vapour, he found, " that 
it could not intercept the train of fire when it had 
once begun flashing, nor hinder it from running to 
the very end." He subjected a dog to a second 



204< GttOTTA DEL CANE. 

trial in order to ascertain whether he was longer in 
expiring the first, than the second time ; and he found 
there was no sensible difference. A viper bore it 
nine minutes the first time he put it in, and ten 
minutes the second ; — and he attributes the prolonged 
duration of the second trial, to the large provision 
of air that the viper laid in after his first death, upon 
which stock he supposes it to have existed a minute 
longer, the second time. 

March 4th. Read the Italian in a French trans- 
lation ; and afterwards explored the church of S. 
Nicolo, where Mrs. Radcliffe has laid the scene of 
that admirable interview between the Marchesa and 
Schedoni, at Vespers ; during which they plot the 
death of Ellena. I went afterwards to the church 
of iS. Severo, where there are some statues of great 
celebrity. One represents a female covered with a 
veil, which is most happily executed in marble, and 
has all the effect of transparency. This new effect 
of sculpture was the invention and the work of 
Corradini, a Venetian. 

There is another statue of the same kind, in the 
same church, by the same workman ; — a dead Christ, 
— covered with the same marble imitation of a thin 
gauze veil, which appears as if it were moist with 
the cold damp of death. 

There is also a statue of a figure in a net, the 
celebrated work of Queirolo, a Genoese ; which is 
a model of pains and patience It is cut out of a 



SIROCCO WIND. 205 

single block ; yet the net has many folds, and scarcely 
touches the statue. 

March 5th. Explored the scenery of the Italian. 
Went to vespers at the church of S. Spirito ; but 
the places themselves are as different from Mrs. Rad- 
cliffe's romantic descriptions, as the fat unmeaning 
faces of the present monks are from the sublime 
portrait of her stern and terrible Schedoni. But it 
is ever thus. Life is only tolerable in a romance, 
where all that is common-place and disgusting is 
kept out of sight ; — for, what is the reality, but, as 
as Mr. Shandy says, to shift about from side to side, 
and from sorrow to sorrow, — to button up one vex- 
ation, only to unbutton another ! 

March 6th. Seized with an acute pain in the 
side. 

9th. Decided pleurisy — Summoned an English 
surgeon to my assistance. High fever. — Copious 
bleeding. — Owe my life, under Heaven, to the lancet ; 
whose repeated application was necessary to relieve 
me from the intolerable distress under which I had 
been gasping for some days. I find pleurisy is the 
endemic of Naples. 

March 14th. Mgri somnia—\i a man be tired of 
the slow lingering progress of consumption, let him 
repair to Naples ; and the denouement will be much 
more rapid. The sirocco wind, which has been 
blowing for six days, continues with the same vio- 
lence. 



206 THE POPE AND KING OF NAPLES, 

The effects of this south-east blast, fraught with all 
the plagues of the deserts of Africa, are immediately 
felt in that leaden oppressive dejection of spirits, 
which is the most intolerable of diseases. This must 
surely be the (i plumbeus Auster" of Horace. 

Neapolitan gossips. — It seems there is a great 
dispute at present between the Pope and the King of 
Naples. His Holiness claims feudal superiority over 
the kingdom, as a fief of the Popedom ; and, indeed, 
it would appear that he has always exercised the 
right of investiture to every sovereign of Naples, 
since the foundation of the monarchy by Roger the 
Norman. 

Murat, who, in the days of his prosperity, laughed 
at the papal pretensions, after the downfall of Na- 
poleon, thought it prudent to make his submission 
to his Holiness, and was about to obtain the papal 
investiture. 

It is incontestable that a certain tribute has always 
been paid annually by the King to the Pope. The 
Pope receives this as an acknowledgment of his 
feudal superiority; the King would fain consider 
it as a charitable contribution of Peter's Pence. 
The question is still left open, and here the matter 
rests. 

In another branch of the dispute, the King has 
gained his point, and established his claim to ap- 
point his own Bishops ; — subject to the papal con- 
firmation. 



GAMING TABLE. 



207 



The King of Naples is the oldest reigning sove- 
reign in Europe, having ascended the throne in 1759. 
Though a devotee in religion, he is so fond of field 
sports, that, he cannot give up the pleasures of the 
chasse, for a single day ; and he has actually obtained 
a dispensation from the Pope to permit him to shoot 
on Sundays ! It must be remembered, however, in his 
excuse, that he is seventy and odd years old, and has 
therefore no time to lose. 

March 15th. Convalescence. — Crawled to the 
Archbishop of Tarento's — Small collection of pic- 
tures ; — three by Murillo excellent. 

First day of Passion week. — There is a strange 
mixture of straining and swallowing in the observance 
of Lent here. The opera, and the theatres, have 
been open; but the ballet has been suppressed. 
Dancing, it would seem, is more unholy than singing, 
or gambling ; for, the gaming-hell, under the same 
roof with the opera, and under the sanction of govern- 
ment, has been allowed to go on without inter- 
ruption. 

" Noctes atque dies patet atri Janua Ditis." 

This is a very large establishment ; it holds its daily 
session in a house in the Corso ; and adjourns in the 
evening to a splendid suite of rooms in the upper 
part of the opera house. The Neapolitans are 
devoted to play, and they pursue it with a fatal 
energy, that hurries many of them to the last stage of 
the road to ruin. — The relaxation of morals, as you 



208 GAMING TABLE. 

advance towards the south, is very striking. — I am 
afraid to believe all that I hear of the licentiousness 
of Naples ; but I see enough to make me think nothing 
impossible. 

The plain-speaking of the Neapolitan Ladies is 
truly surprising ; — they call every thing by its right 
name, without any circumlocution ; — and in the re- 
lation of a story, whatever be the character of the 
incidents, there is nothing left to be collected by in- 
ference, but the facts are broadly and plainly told, 
with the most circumstantial details. 

March 16th. The gaming table is permitted to go on 
even during the present week ; and the only restraint 
imposed upon this den of destruction, is a short inter- 
dict, from Thursday next to Sunday ; when the doors 
will be re-opened. Strange infatuation ! that men 
should thus devotedly pursue a fancied good by means 
which, — occupying all their time and absorbing all 
their interest, — must take away the power of pro- 
fiting by its acquisition ; 

— et propter nummos, nummorum perdere causas — 
for, it almost universally happens, that the means at 
last become the end ; — money being seldom, I believe, 
the object of any but the selfish calculating gamester. 
The true children of play, are delighted with the 
pursuit, and care as little for the object, as the sports- 
man does for the fox. — They find, in the vicissitudes of 
play, that strong excitement of the soul, which fur- 
nishes a constant succession of deep and agitating 



GAMING TABLE. 209 

emotions. There are minds so unhappily constituted, 
that, to them, the innocent and peaceful pleasures of 
tranquil security are as insipid and disgusting, as milk 
and water would be to the lover of brandy. Ennui 
is too light a term for that heaviness of spirit, and 
weariness of soul, which find all the uses of the world 
stale, flat, and unprofitable. The stagnant puddle of 
existence then must be stirred and freshened, by the 
torrent, tempest, and whirlwind of the passions ; and 
this stimulant is sought in the dangers of war, the fever 
of ambition, or the hopes and fears of love. But love, 
and war, and ambition, are not within the reach of 
all ; — while the gaming table is ever at hand. The 
passion for play is universal, and seems to have its 
root in the very heart of man ; — no rank, or age, or 
sex, is exempt from its influence. The silken baron of 
civilization, and the naked savage of the desert, shew 
how nearly they are related, in the common eagerness 
with which they fly to gaming, for relief for the same 
tcedium vitce, the same oppressive void of occupation, 
which is of all voids, that which nature, — at least 
human nature, — abhors the most. 

I was a witness, this morning, of the effect of the 
procession of the Host upon these orgies. At the 
sound of the bell, — the groom-porter suspended the 
work of dealing ; — and there was a half-solemn, half- 
sneering pause, till the bell was out of hearing. All 
England would exclaim against the government that 
could be accessary to the corruption of the morals of 



210 QUAY OF NAPLES. 

its subjects, by the encouragement of gaming-tables, 
for the sake of the revenues, derived from such un- 
hallowed practices ; but there are too many of us, 
who cannot, because they will not, see, that evils of 
the same kind, — though it is to be hoped in a less 
degree, — are produced by our own system of state 
lotteries. 

March 17th. At this pious season, the strangest 
dramatic representations are prepared for the edifica- 
tion of the people. — There is no disputing about 
taste ; — if a man, in London, were to get up a 
puppet show, to represent the ministry, passion, cru- 
cifixion, and ascension of the Saviour ; he would 
probably receive an intimation, the next day, from 
the Attorney General, and have to defend himself 
against a charge of blasphemy. All this however I 
saw this morning for three half-pence, very fairly re- 
presented in a theatre on the quay, by puppets of 
three feet high, to a crowded and admiring audience. 
The opposition theatre held out the temptation of a 
grand spectacle, — representing Lord Exmouth's ex- 
ploits at Algiers ; but I ought to record, that the 
sacred piece seemed to be the most attractive. 

The quay of Naples affords a scene, such as I 
think can scarcely be equalled in the world. Tom 
Fool is there in all his glory, — with such a motley 
train at his heels, and with such a chorus of noise and 
nonsense, — wit and waggery, — fun and foolery, — 
all around him ; that, however a man may be dis- 



BURIAL OF THE DEAD. 211 

gusted at first, the effect in the end is like that of 
Munden's face in a stupid farce, — where that admira- 
ble actor condescends to buffoonery, to save the 
author of his piece; — you are constrained to laugh in 
spite of yourself. 

March 18th. Spring has once more returned in 
good earnest. Visited the Albergo del Poveri ; a 
sort of Foundling Hospital, and House of Industry. 
Here we saw 1,500 men and boys ; and about as 
many women and girls. From whence we drove to 
the Campo Santo, — the great Golgotha of Naples. 
It is situated on a rising ground behind the town ; 
about a mile and a half from the gate. AYithin its 
walls, are 365 caverns ; one is opened every day for 
the reception of the dead, the great mass of whom, 
as soon as the rites of religion have been performed, 
are brought here for sepulture. There were fifteen 
cast in, while we were there; men, women, and 
children, — without a rag to cover them ; literally 
fulfilling the words of scripture : — " As he came forth 
out of his mother's womb, naked shall he return, to 
go as he came!" I looked down into this frightful 
charnel-house ;— it was a shocking sight, — a mass of 
blood and garbage ; — for many of the bodies had 
been opened at the hospitals. Cock-roaches, and 
other reptiles, were crawling about in all their glory. 
" We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat our- 
selves for maggots : that's the end !" 

We made the sexton of this dreary abode, who, 

P 2 



212 BURIAL OF THE DEAD. 

by the way, had been employed in this daily work for 
eleven years, open the stone of the next day's grave, 
which had been sealed up for a year. The flesh was 
entirely gone ; for, in such a fermenting mass, the 
work of corruption must go on swimmingly. Quick 
lime is added to hasten the process, and nothing 
seemed to remain but a dry heap of bones and 
skulls. What must be the feelings of those, who can 
suffer the remains of a Friend, a Sister, a Mother, or 
a Wife, to be thus disposed of? Indifferent as I feel 
to the posthumous fate of my own remains, Heaven 
grant, that I may at least rest and rot alone ; — with- 
out being mixed up in so horrible a human hash as 
this ! 

There were some women saying Ave Marias, 
within the square, for the departed souls of their 
friends ; but our arrival took them from this pious 
work, and set them upon some calculations, — con- 
nected with us, and our carriage, and the number of 
it, — to direct them in the selection of lucky numbers 
in the lottery, upon their return to Naples ! 

March 19th. The king waited upon a company of 
beggars at their meal ; and afterwards, washed their 
feet. This day is observed with the greatest solem- 
nity. No carriages have been allowed to move about 
the streets. - All the higher classes have put on mourn- 
ing, and the soldiers have paraded, with arms reversed, 
and muffled drums. In the evening, the king, at- 
tended by his whole court, walked in procession, 



CATHOLIC CEREMONIALS. 213 

bareheaded, through the Toledo ; visiting the churches 
in his route, and kneeling before the images of the 
Virgin, who, on this occasion, is dressed in deep 
mourning. 

March 20th. Good Friday. — Continuation of the . 
mourning of yesterday. — It must be confessed, that 
there is much more of religious observance in Catholic, 
than in Protestant countries. Then comes the ques- 
tion, to what extent is it wholesome to encourage 
these outward observances ? If too much importance 
be given to them, there is danger that religion will 
stop there, and degenerate into a mere homage of 
rites and ceremonies, in the place of that homage of 
our hearts and lives, which the Christian religion 
requires of us. And this is the objection which we 
make against the Catholics. Again, if there be no 
attention paid to forms, there is danger that the sub- 
stance may be lost sight of: and that a religion with- 
out any rites, will soon become no religion at all ; and 
this, I apprehend, is the objection that the Catholics 
make against the Protestants. Both sides agree, that 
some ceremonial is necessary, and it is only a ques- 
tion of degree between them after all. In determin- 
ing this question of degree, it is not easy to lay down 
a rule that would be universally applicable, for it 
must vary with the different characters and habits of 
different nations ; and perhaps climate would not be 
without its influence, in regulating the standard of 
propriety. For example, the natives of the south 



214 PORTICI MUSEUM. 

seem to have an intuitive love of show and spectacle, 
which forms a strong contrast with the plain and 
simple habitudes of the northern nations. And this 
consideration ought perhaps to have made me more to- 
lerant in my remarks on Catholic ceremonies abroad ; 
— for I believe that they may be less characteristic of 
the religion itself, than of the taste of the people. 

21st. The Paschal Lamb, which I have observed 
in many of the houses, as a sort of pet during Lent, 
appears no more. The knife is at work for to-mor- 
row's feast. 

Drove to Portici. — The museum consists princi- 
pally of specimens of the paintings found at Pompeii. 
These remains are very interesting, as illustrative of 
the state of the art amongst the Romans ; but it would 
be ridiculous to take the paintings on the walls of the 
houses of a provincial town as the standard of their 
skill. 

It is fair to suppose, that the taste of the ancients 
was as refined and fastidious in painting, as in the 
sister art of sculpture ; and that the praises which 
they have lavished upon Zeuxis and Apelles, would 
have been supported by their works, if these works 
had come down to us. 

All traces of these great masters are lost ; but, 
we know some of the most admired pieces of the latter 
were brought by Augustus to Rome ; and Pliny's 
descriptions, which do remain, seem to demonstrate 
that they must have been executed in a much higher 



PORTICI MUSEUM. 2l£ 

style of finishing, and with a technical knowledge, 
that will in vain be sought in the painted walls of 
Herculaneum and Pompeii. Many of these, however, 
are designed with great taste, grace, and feeling; 
and, if we suppose that the works of Zeuxis and 
Apelles were as superior to these, as the Last Judg- 
ment, and the School of Athens, are to the painted 
walls of a modern Italian room, we shall probably 
not form too high an estimate of the excellence of the 
great masters of ancient art. One of the most 
elegant figures in this museum, is the picture of a 
female, with a pencil and tablets in her hand, which 
they call Sappho. The story of the picture is often 
plain, as in that of Orestes, Pylades, and Iphigenia, 
in the temple of Diana.- — In another, there is an old 
woman selling Cupids to a young female, behind 
whom stands a sort of Duenna, in the attitude of 
advice and caution. The old retailer of loves holds 
a fluttering Cupid by the wings, and has another in 
her cage. 

We have also a specimen of their taste in carica- 
ture. A little delicate chariot, that might have been 
made by the fairies' coachmaker, is drawn by a parrot, 
and driven by a grasshopper. This is said to be a 
satirical representation of Nero's absurd pretensions 
as a Singer and a Driver ; for, Suetonius tells us he 
made his debut on the Neapolitan theatre : — " Et 
prodiit Neapoli primum : ibidem scepius et per tom- 
plures cantavit dies." 



216 PORTICI MUSEUM. 

Here is a curious picture of a school-master's room, 
with an unhappy culprit horsed on the back of one of 
his fellows ; precisely as the same discipline is admi- 
nistered in many parts of England at present. 

Many articles, even of food, are to be seen pre- 
served in a charcoal state. There is a loaf of bread 
on which the baker's name is still visible. 

It is easy to recognise the different fruits and ve- 
getables, corn, rice, figs, almonds, walnuts, beans, 
lentils, §c. They shew you also the remains of a 
woman, found among the ashes, the skull of which is 
still perfect ; with the necklace and bracelets of gold, 
which she must have had on. Time has hardened 
the liquid shower which overwhelmed her, recording 
that she perished in the prime of youth, by the im- 
pression that remains of her beautiful bosom. 

The only relic of the Temple of Isis, is a priapic 
goblet ; from the spout of which it is plain that the 
votaries must have quaffed the wine. 

We adjourned afterwards i:o the royal palace, 
which was fitted up by Murat. Every thing re- 
mains in the state he left it, except that the family 
pictures of himself, and his wife, and her two brothers, 
Napoleon, and Joseph, have been taken down from 
their high places, and thrust into a garret, " amongst 
the common lumber." He is represented in a fancy 
dress, which is almost ridiculously fantastic, with ear- 
rings in his ears, but, though a fine handsome man, I 
doubt whether he has not a little the air of Tom 



MURAT. 217 

Errand, in Beau Clincher's clothes. Madame Murat's 
room and adjoining bath are strikingly elegant and 
luxurious. In her dressing-room is a small library ; 
in which I observed that the majority of the books, 
were translations of English authors ; — Gibbon, 
Fielding, Hume, Thomson, Coxe's House of Austria, 
Mrs. Radcliffe, and a long train of novels. In 
Joachim's room, almost every article of furniture is 
ornamented with the head of his favourite Henry IV., 
— the royal model which he is said to have proposed 
to himself, — but he was not fortunate enough to meet 
with a Sully for his minister ; and, he lived to learn, 
that the " divinity which used to hedge a King," 
was to be no protection to him, though he had won 
a crown by his valour, and worn it with the consent 
and acknowledgment of all Europe. That man must 
have the feelings of humanity strangely perverted by 
political enmities, who can read the story of his igno- 
minious death without pity. 

The leading feature in his character seems to have 
been, that gallant generous bravery so becoming a 
soldier, which he displayed on all occasions. In his 
very last retreat, he is said to have risked his life, to 
save the son of one of his nobility, who wanted the 
courage to do it himself. They were crossing the 
river, under the fire of the Austrians ; the horse of the 
young man was wounded, and his situation appeared 
hopeless. Joachim, moved by the distress of the 
father, plunged into the stream, and brought the son 



218 MURAT. 

in safety to the bank, where the father had remained 
a helpless spectator of the whole transaction. But 
peace be to his ashes. — I am no advocate for the 
scum, to which the fermentation of the French Revo- 
lution has given such undue elevation ; but there are 
always exceptions ; — and Joachim, however he might 
be tainted with the original sin of the school in which 
he was bred, had deserved too well of mankind, by 
his own conduct in power, not to merit more compas- 
sion than he found, in the hour of his adversity. 

In the gardens of Portici is a Fort, built to teach 
the present King the art of fortification, during his 
childhood ; and in the upper apartment is a curious 
mechanical table, which is made to furnish a dinner, 
without the attendance of domestics. 

In the centre of the table is a trap-door. The din- 
ner is sent up by pulleys from the kitchen below. 
Each person has six bell-handles attached to his place, 
which ring in the kitchen, inscribed with the articles 
most in request at dinner. These are hoisted up by 
invisible agents, something after the fashion of the en- 
tertainment, in Beauty and the Beast; — or to compare 
it with something less romantic, and nearer home, 
Mr. O.'s establishment at Lanark, where dinner is 
served up by steam ! A double chain, arranged like 
the ropes of a draw-well, sends up the dinner on one 
side, and carries down the dirty plates, 8fC, on the 
t>ther. 

March 22nd. Easter Sunday.— Grand holiday. — 



VESUVIUS. 



219 



A feast at Portici, which reminded me of Greenwich 
fair. — The dress of the peasantry gaudy and glitter- 
ing ; — Crimson satin gowns, covered with tinsel. 

Excursion to Vesuvius. — My surgeon warned me 
against this ascent, but I was resolved to go. To 
leave Naples, without seeing Vesuvius, would be 
worse, than to die at Naples, after seeing Vesuvius. 
The ascent was laborious enough, but no part of the 
labour fell upon my shoulders. When we arrived at 
the foot of the perpendicular steep, where it was ne- 
cessary to leave our mules ; while my companions 
toiled up on foot, I got into an easy arm-chair, and 
was carried on the shoulders of eight stout fellows, to 
my own great astonishment, and to the greater amuse- 
ment of my friends, who expected every moment to 
see us all roll over together. I certainly should not 
have thought the thing practicable, if T had not tried 
it ; for the ascent is as steep, as it is well possible to 
be ; the surface however is rugged ; and this enabled 
the men to keep their footing. It was not the plea- 
santest ride in the world ; for, without pretending to 
any extraordinary sensibility, there is something dis- 
agreeable in overcoming difficulties by the sweat of 
other men's brows, even if they are well paid for it. 
The men however seemed to enjoy it vastly. 

When you arrive at the top, it is an awful sight, 
more like the infernal regions, than any thing that 
human imagination could suggest. As you approach 
the great crater, the crust upon which you tread be- 



220 VESUVIUS — HERCULANEUM. 

comes so hot, that you cannot stand long on the same 
place ; — your progress is literally "per ignes suppositos 
cineri doloso ;" — if you push your stick an inch below 
the surface, it takes fire, and you may light paper by 
thrusting it into any of the cracks of the crust. The 
craters of the late eruption were still vomiting forth 
flames and smoke, and when we threw down large 
stones into these fiery mouths, one might have thought 
they were replying to Lear's imprecation- " Rumble 
thi/ belli/ full! — Spit fire!" — Altogether, it was a 
most sublime and impressive scene, and may be classed 
amongst the very few things in the world that do not 
disappoint expectation. 

The look down, into the great crater at the summit, 
is frightfully grand ; and when you turn away from 
the contemplation of this fearful abyss, you are pre- 
sented with the most forcible contrast, in the rich and 
luxuriant prospect of Naples, and the surrounding 
country ; where all is soft and smiling as far as the 
eye can see. 

In our way home, we explored Herculaneum; which 
scarcely repays the labour. This town is filled up 
with lava, and with a cement caused by the large mix- 
ture of water, with the shower of earth and ashes that 
destroyed it ; and it is choked up, as completely as 
if molten lead had been poured into it. Here there- 
fore the work of excavation was so laborious, that all 
which could be done, has been to cut a few passages. 
Besides, it is forty feet below the surface, and another 



LAZZARONI. 221 

town is now built over it ; so that you grope about 
under ground by torch-light, and see nothing. 

Pompeii, on the contrary, was destroyed by a 
shower of cinders, in which there was a much less 
quantity of water. It lay, for centuries, only twelve 
feet below the surface ; and, these cinders being easily 
removed, the town has been again restored to the light 
of day. 

In the evening the Theatre of S. Carlo re-opened 
with a new opera, and a splendid ballet. 

March 23d. The finest-looking men in Naples are 
the Lazzaroni ; the lowest class m the order of so- 
ciety ; answering to the Lazzi in the old Saxon divi- 
sion of classes in our own island: " Dwidebantur an- 
tiqui Saxones in tres ordines ; Edilingos, Filingos, et 
Lazzos ; hoc est, nobiles, ingenuos, serviles. Restat 
antiqued appellationis commemoratio. Ignavos enim 
lazie hodie dicimus" — (Spelman). 

But, if Lazzaroni be at all connected with laziness, 
the term has little application to the bearers of burdens 
in Naples ; unless it be explained in the same manner 
as lucus d non lucendo. If they are fond of sprawling 
in the sun, they are enjoying the holiday of repose, 
which they have earned by their own industry ; and 
which they have a right to dispose of according to 
their own taste. There is an amphibious class of these 
fellows, who seem to live in the water. I have stood 
watching a boat for hours, which I had at first ima- 
gined was a-drift, without an owner ; to which one of 



222 TEATRO NUOVO. 

these fishermen would occasionally mount out of the 
water with an oyster, and then, down he went again, 
in search of another. 

They appear to be a merry joyous race, with a 
keen relish for drollery, and endued with a power of 
feature, that is shewn in the richest exhibitions of 
comic grimace. Swinburne says well, that Hogarth 
ought to have visited Naples, to have beheld the 
" sublime of caricature.''' 

I know few sights more ludicrous, than that which 
may be enjoyed by treating a Lazzarone to as many 
yards of macaroni as he can contrive to slide down 
his throat, without breaking its continuity. 

Their dexterity is almost equal to that of the Indian 
Jugglers, and much more entertaining. 

March 24th. In ascending the scale of society, 
we do not find progressive improvement in informa- 
tion, as we mount to the top. 

The ignorance of the higher classes has long been 
proverbial. Murat had instituted a female school of 
education, on a large scale, which was well attended 
by the principal families in Naples ; and a taste for 
knowledge was beginning to spread very rapidly ; — 
but Murat is dead, and this institution has fallen with 
its founder. The most thriving profession is the law ; 
— and almost every tenth man is a lawyer. 

March 25th. Went in the evening to the Tedtro 
Nuovo, where Italian tragedies and comedies are 
performed ; and which is attended, particularly by the 



WHY RUINS ARE INTERESTING. 223 

younger classes of the Neapolitans, as a, school of 
pronunciation, and a lesson in language. Nothing 
can be more barbarous, than the Neapolitan dialect. 
There was but little vis. comica in the performance ; 
and indeed the piece was a suspirious, lacrymose, white- 
handkerchief business, translated from a sentimental 
German comedy. 

The rustic, who seems to be the same — at least in 
the stage representation of the character — all the world 
over, was well done, and reminded me of Emery. 

March 26th. Intended excursion to Paestum. Pre- 
vented by a fresh attack of pleurisy. — Perhaps there 
is no great cause for regret, for, however fine the ruins 
may be, there is no story of the olden time to make 
them particularly interesting. If ruins are sought out 
as mere objects to please the eye, I doubt if there be 
any thing in Italy that could be put in comparison 
with Tintern Abbey. But, it is the deeds that have 
been done, and the men that did them, — the Scipios, 
and the Catos, and the Brutuses, — that invest the 
ruins of Rome with their great charm and interest. 
Independently of these recollections, there is perhaps 
nothing to be seen in Italy, so beautiful, as the light, 
elegant and graceful ruins of a Gothic Abbey. 

This associating principle seems to operate, and 
give an interest, even to places, where the adventures 
which make them memorable, are notoriously ficti- 
tious ; for, to no other cause can I attribute the pains 
I have taken to identify the scenery of the Italian ; and 



224 OPERA. 

I experienced serious disappointment, at being unable 
to find the ruined archway, in which Vivaldi was 
intercepted by the mysterious monk, in his visits to 
the villa of Signora Bianca ; — which had probably 
never any existence, except in the imagination of 
Mrs. RadclifFe. 

The vicissitudes of the weather here are beyond 
every thing I have ever felt. During Easter week, 
it was intensely hot. On the 28th of March, Vesu- 
vius was covered with snow, and the four succeeding 
days have been as cold and comfortless as wind, sleet, 
and hail, could make them. 

April 2d. Convalescence. — Visited the opera for 
the first time. Of all the stupid things in the world, 
a serious opera is perhaps the most stupid, and the 
opera of to-night formed no exception to this observa- 
tion. The theatre is, I believe, the largest in Europe, 
and it is certainly too large for the singers, whose 
voices sound like penny trumpets on Salisbury Plain*. 

* It ought to excite little wonder, that there are so few good 
singers in Italy, for she is unable, from her poverty, to retain 
those whom she has herself formed. As soon as they become 
eminent, they are enticed away to foreign countries, and often 
return to Italy, after years of absence, enriched with the spoils 
of half the provinces of Europe. Besides, the Italians of the 
present day have no taste for the higher kinds of music, — for 
full and grand harmonies, — or for instrumental music in general. 
If you talk to them of Haydn, Mozart, or Beethoven, they shrug 
up their shoulders, and tell you — " E Musica Tedesca, — non ci 
abbiamo gusto." Cherubini, their only really great composer, 



OPERA. 225 

The pit contained 674 elbowed seats, in 19 rows ; 
and there is standing room for at least 150 persons. 

might perhaps be cited as an exception, — but he is in fact a most 
striking confirmation of their want of taste ;— for his works are 
almost unknown, and he seems to be himself aware of the in- 
ability of his countrymen to appreciate his merits, by residing at 
a distance, and composing for foreign theatres. What the Ita- 
lians like, is an easy flowing melody, unincumbered, as they 
would call it, with too much harmony. Whatever Corinne may 
say to the contrary, they seem to have little or no relish for im- 
passioned music. Take an example of the taste of the times from 
the Opera of to-night — Armida — the composition of their favourite 
Rossini. His operas are always easy and flowing ; — abounding 
in prettinesses and melting cadenzas, but he never reaches, nor, 
apparently, does he attempt to reach, the sustained and elevated 
character which distinguishes the music of Mozart. But 
Rossini's works ought not to be too severely criticised ; for the 
continual demand for new music is greater than any fertility of 
head could supply. The Italians never like to go back ; — with- 
out referring so far as their own great Corelli,— Cimarosa, Pai- 
siello, and others of equally recent date, are already become an- 
tiquated ; and as Rossini is almost their only composer, he is 
obliged to write an opera in the interval of a few weeks, between 
the bringing out of the last, and its being laid on the shelf. 

It is a sad tantalizing thing to hear music in Italy which you 
may wish to carry away with you ; for they have no printed 
music!— This alone is sufficient to indicate the low state of the 
art. From Naples to Milan, I believe, there is no such artist 
as an Engraver of Music, and you never see a Music shop. You 
must therefore go without it, or employ a Copier, whose trade 
is regulated by the most approved cheating rules. He charges 
you according to the quantity of paper written on, and therefore 
takes care not to write too closely. 



226 OPERA. 

The ballet of Gengis Khan was splendidly got up. 
The dancing was admirable, for though excellence 
must necessarily be confined to a few, all were good. 
These spectacles are better managed here than in 
England. I am afraid there is always something 
lumpish and awkward in the general effect of our corps 
de ballet ; but here the groups are so picturesque, their 
motions so graceful, there is such a general expertness 
in the most complicated movements of the dance, and 
such a lightness and perpetual motion in all the figures, 
that the whole spectacle has the effect of phantasma- 
goria. 

3d. The ex-king of Spain arrived, accompanied by 
his brother the present king of Naples, who had gone 
to Mola di Gaeta, to meet him. It is said that they 
now met for the first time after a separation of sixty 
years. 



•227 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Returned to Rome — Criminal guillotined — Tivoli — 
Claude Lorraine — Roman Politics — Computation 
of Time — Preachers — Music — Paganini— Depar- 
ture from Rome — Falls of Temi — Return to 
Florence. 

April 5th. 1JEFT Naples, in a fit of spleen and 
disgust at the continued inclemency of the weather, 
and slept at Capua; where we found none of those 
seducing luxuries, which enervated the soldiers of 
Hannibal. 

6th. This day's journey brought us to Velletri. 
It was nearly dark when we left Terracina to pass 
over the Pontine Marshes. During the last stage, 
our postilion was constantly stopping, upon some 
pretence of the harness wanting repair ; at other 
times he pleaded that his horses were knocked up, 
and could not go beyond a foot's pace, on which 
occasion he would set up a loud song. All this was 
so like the common prologue to a robbery scene in 
romance, that we suspected the fellow must be a 
confederate with the banditti. At last we lost all 
patience, — my companion produced his pistols, and 
swore that the next time he relaxed from a trot, he 

Q 2 



228 ROME. 

would blow out his brains. This seemed to have its 
effect, and we rattled on to Velletri, without clearing 
up the mystery. 

7th. Reached Rome to breakfast. — Went to bed 
in a high fever. — Summoned a Roman surgeon to 
open a vein, which he did very tolerably ; but their 
practice is much more timid than our own, for as 
soon as he had taken a large thimble full of blood, 
he was for binding up the arm again, and protested, 
in the most urgent manner, against the madness of 
my proceeding when he saw me determined to lose 
ten ounces. 

11th. Emerged from the confinement of a sick 
room, to enjoy again the genial air of Rome. How 
delightful is the calm tranquillity of this fallen capital, 
after the din and clatter of Naples ! There is some- 
thing so soft and balmy in the air, that I feel every 
mouthful revive and invigorate me ; — and it is now 
as warm as midsummer in England. 

Went to the church of 8. Maria del Popolo, where 
there is a great curiosity in sculpture ; — a statue by 
Raphael. It is Jonas, in the moment of his deliver- 
ance from the jaws of the great Leviathan of the 
Deep. The figure is beautifully elegant, and displays 
the same delicate skill in outline, for which Raphael 
is so distinguished in his pictures. It is doubted 
whether Lorenzetto executed this statue from Ra- 
phael's design, or whether it received the finishing 
strokes from Raphael himself. As no other works of 



CANOVA AND THORWALDSON. 229 

Lorenzetto display the same powers, it is fair to 
suppose the latter ; and indeed there is a masterly 
touch in the expression, that seems in itself sufficient 
to decide the question. 

12th. Lounged through the Studii of Canova and 
Thorwaldson. — Confirmed in my former opinions of 
their respective merits. — A statue of Washington, 
for the United States, just moulded by Canova ; — in 
which there is the same want of repose and simplicity, 
that is so often observable in his works. Thorwald- 
son had just finished the model of a Mercury, putting 
Argus to sleep with his pipe ; a figure of exquisite 
grace, archness, and spirit, — the veritable son of 
Maia. 

Some traces of antiquity are continually meeting 
you in your walks through Rome ; for instance, the 
white robes of the modern Italian Butchers, which 
are strikingly neat and cleanly, seem to be the cast- 
off dresses of the priests, who performed the act of 
sacrifice. 

April 13th. An execution in the Piazza del Po- 
polo. The culprit was a " Fellow with a horrid 
face," who had murdered his father. The murder 
was detected in a singular manner, affording an ex- 
traordinary instance of the sagacity and faithful 
attachment of the dog to its master. The disappear- 
ance of the deceased had given rise to inquiry, and 
the officers of police went to his cottage, where, on 
examining his son, they learned that his father had 



230 PUBLIC EXECUTION. 

gone out to work as usual, a few days before, and 
had not been seen since. As the officers were con- 
tinuing their search in the neighbourhood, their at- 
tention was excited by observing a dog lying in a 
lone place ; who seemed to endeavour to attract their 
notice, by scratching on some newly-turned earth. 
Their curiosity was excited, by something peculiar in 
his action and manner, to examine the spot ; — where 
they found the body. It would seem that the dog 
must have been an unobserved witness of his master's 
murder, and had not forsaken his grave. On re- 
turning to the cottage with the body, the son was so 
struck with the discovery made by the officers by 
means which he could not divine, that, concluding 
it must have been by supernatural intimation, he made 
a full confession of his guilt ; — that he had beaten 
out his father's brains with a mallet, at the instigation 
of his mother, that he had dragged him to this 
bye-place, and there buried him. The mother was 
condemned to imprisonment for life ; — the son to the 
guillotine. He kept us waiting from ten o'clock till 
almost three ; for the execution is delayed till the 
culprit is brought to a due state of penitence. 

At last the bell rang, the Host was brought from 
a neighbouring church, that he might receive the last 
sacrament ; and soon afterwards the criminal was led 
out. biglese was a passport on this as on other 
occasions. The guards that formed in a square round 
the guillotine, made way for me to pass ; and I was 



PUBLIC EXECUTION. 231 

introduced, almost against my will, close to the 
scaffold. 

A crucifix, and a black banner, with death's heads 
upon it, were borne before the culprit, who advanced 
between two priests. He mounted the scaffold with 
a firm step, and did not once flinch till he stooped to 
put his head into the groove prepared to receive it. 

This is the trying minute ; the rest is the affair of 
less than a moment. It appears to be the best of all 
modes of inflicting the punishment of death ; com- 
bining the greatest impression on the spectator, with 
the least possible suffering to the victim. It is so 
rapid, that I should doubt whether there were any 
suffering ; but from the expression of the countenance 
when the executioner held up the head, I am inclined 
to believe that sense and consciousness may remain 
for a few seconds after the head is off. The eyes 
seemed to retain speculation for a moment or two, 
and there was a look in the ghastly stare. with which 
they glared upon the crowd, which implied that the 
head was aware of its ignominious situation. And 
indeed there is nothing improbable in this supposition ; 
for in all injuries of the spine whereby a communi- 
cation with the sensorium is cut off, it is the parts 
below the injury which are deprived of sensation, 
while those above retain their sensibility. And so, 
in the case of decapitation, the nerves of the face 
and eyes, may for a short time continue to convey im- 
pressions to the brain, in spite of the separation from 
the trunk. 



282 GAME OF MORRA. 

April \^th. Mgina Marbles ; — these belong to 
an earlier age of sculpture than that of Phidias, and 
are curious specimens of the infancy of the art amongst 
the Greeks. 

The symmetry is very defective ; and there is a 
sort of sardonic smile in the expression of all the 
faces that is unintelligible, without knowing the his- 
tory of the group. 

Amongst the amusements of the people, there is 
nothing more striking than the energy and interest 
which they exhibit in the common game of Morra. 

This game is played by two persons ; they both 
hold out their right hands, with the fingers extended ; 
then, each contracts or shuts one, or as many of his 
fingers as he pleases ; calling out at the same time 
the number which he guesses will be the whole amount 
of his own and his adversary's contracted fingers ; 
this they both do, at the same moment, and very 
rapidly. Whichever guesses rightly, scores one, which 
is done by holding out one finger of the left hand ; — 
the game may be five or ten, or more, at pleasure. 

The vivacity with which they pursue this game is 
extraordinary. As may be supposed, from the nature 
of the game, it often creates disputes and quarrels, 
and in the days when every man carried his stiletto, 
these quarrels but too often ended in blood. 

15th to 20th. There is now scarcely a stranger 
in Rome. The ceremonies of Easter being over, all 
the world is gone to Naples ; and the best lodgings 



tivoli. 233 

are now to be had for half the price that would have 
been asked two months ago. 

Accidentally encountered some old friends and 
school-fellows. What a delightful thing it is to laugh 
and talk over the almost forgotten days of boyhood; 
when all was fun and frolic. For a moment one 
escapes from the present to the past, and becomes a 
boy over again. 

22nd. Excursion to Tivoli. — We rose before the 
sun, and reached Tivoli to breakfast. — The morning- 
was beautiful, and the morning is the spring of the 
day, when all nature is fresh and joyous, and man is 
fresh to enjoy it. It is the custom of the Cicerone 
to lead you a long round of some miles, to see the 
cascatelle, and other things which are not worth 
seeing; and I regretted that I had not rather re- 
mained the whole morning, in the charming environs 
of the temple of Vesta. 

The great cascade is artificial, — the work of Ber- 
nini ; but I prefer much the natural fall which the 
waters have worked for themselves through the 
fissures of the rock; which is seen with such ad- 
mirable effect, from the hollow cavern called Grotto 
of Neptune. A pretty and intricate shrubbery covers 
the precipice, through which a path has been cut to 
enable you to descend to this spot; and I have 
seldom looked upon a scene, which unites at once 
so much of the sublime and the beautiful ; — but I will 
not attempt to describe it. A cascade is one of 



234 CLAUDE LORRAINE. 

those things that bids defiance to the pen or the pencil ; 
for the noise and the motion, which constitute, in 
fact, almost all that is grand and graceful in a real 
waterfall, are lost in a picture ; and when these are 
taken away, what remains, — but an unseemly patch 
of white paint ? If the imagination is to supply the 
loss, it might as well represent the whole scene. 

Horace may well be justified for his partiality to 
the prceceps Anio et Tibumi lucus. It is an exquisite 
spot ; and well calculated to suggest the idea of a 
retreat from the world, with the calm pleasures of a 
life of rural retirement : 

Tibur Argeo positum colono 
Sit mese sedes utinam senectae ! 
Sit modus lasso maris, et viarum 
Militiseque ! 

It was in the scenery of Tivoli that Claude de- 
lighted to study nature, and in most of his landscapes 
there may be traced some features of the soft and 
beautiful combinations of the elements of landscape, 
which the scenery of Tivoli affords in such abund- 
ance. But the pictures of Claude represent nature 
rather as she might be, than as she is. His pictures 
are poetic nature ; nature abstracted from all local 
defects ; — by which I mean, that though all the se- 
parate features of his pictures are true to nature, 
yet, that he has compounded them in a manner, to 
form a general whole, such as will never be found 
existing together in a real landscape. Thus he has 



LUNATIC ASYLUM. 235 

done in landscape, what the Greek artists have done 
in sculpture, who, from the separate excellencies of 
different individuals, have combined perfect figures, far 
superior in grace and beauty to any single living model. 
April 23d. Visited the lunatic asylum. — I should 
have been inclined to suppose, in a country where 
the natives display so much vivacity and energy in 
the ordinary and healthy state of their minds, that 
their mad-houses would have exhibited a strange 
scene of violent excitement. But I was surprised 
to find every thing calm and tranquil. There were 
no raving patients ; and only two whom it was ne- 
cessary to confine, by a slight chain, to the wall of 
their apartment. I was much struck by the appear- 
ance and expression of two unfortunates labouring 
under the most opposite symptoms. — The one was a 
captain in the army, who had been driven mad by 
jealousy. — He was walking up and down a long 
room, with a quick and agitated step, and, I was 
told, he had been occupied in the same way for ten 
years ; except during the few hours of sleep. He 
seemed to be suffering the pains of the damned, as 
they have been described to proceed from the worm 
that never dieth. The other was a melancholy ma- 
niac, lying in the sun; so utterly lost in vacancy, 
that I endeavoured in vain to rouse him from his 
revery. He had a cast of countenance so cynic, 
that he might have furnished a painter with an ad- 
mirable study for a Diogenes. 



236 ROMAN POLITICS. 

April 24th. The politicians of Rome look to the 
future with gloomy apprehension. The general opi- 
nion seems to be, that the temporal power of the 
Pope will end with Pius VII. ; and that Austria will 
lay her paw upon the ecclesiastical dominions. 

Connected as the House of Austria is with the 
reigning families of Tuscany, and Naples, such an 
attempt might have little opposition to fear in the 
rest of Italy ; and indeed as to the Papal States, 
even if there were any national feeling to keep them 
together, which I believe there is not, the people 
seem too much disposed to rely upon the interposition 
of miraculous assistance from above, to do any thing 
for themselves. 

When the French were advancing in 1798 — how 
was it that the Papal Government prepared to resist 
them? By a levy en masse? No — but by a pro- 
cession of three of the most sacred relics in the 
possession of the church. — These relics were — II 
santo Volto, a miraculous portrait of the Saviour ; — 
and a Santa Maria, a portrait of the Virgin, sup- 
posed also to be painted by supernatural agency ; — 
and the chains which St. Peter wore in prison, from 
which the angel liberated him. 

This procession was attended by nearly the whole 
population of Rome, comprehending all ranks and 
ages and sexes, the greater part of them bare-footed. 
— Satisfied with this, they remained in a state of 
inactivity, in the hope that Heaven would interpose 



ITALIAN COMEDY. 237 

in their favour, by some miraculous manifestation of 
its power. Such is ever the effect of superstition, 
which substitutes rites for duties, and teaches men to 
build their hopes of divine favour upon any other 
rather than the only true and rational foundation of 
such hopes,— the faithful and exemplary discharge of 
their own duties. 

The Italians now make a triumphant appeal to 
the late restoration of the Pope, as a visible inter- 
ference of Providence, which ought to convince a 
heretic that it is decreed by the counsels of Heaven, 
that the Pope shall endure for ever ; and they hail 
this return as an omen and security for the same mi- 
raculous assistance in the time to come, forgetting 
the admirable doctrine of the Trojan patriot, 

In the evening went to the theatre. — An Italian 
comedy, or rather a German play, translated into 
Italian. — German sentiment seems to please all the 
world, in spite of its stupidity ; else, why do we all 
pilfer from Kotzebue ? Vestris, the great comic actor 
of Italy, played the part of a valet, with consider- 
able archness and humour ; but he is a " tun of 
man ;" and a fat man is fit to act nothing but a fat 
man ; — for perhaps there is no character but Falstaff, 
of which fat is an essential attribute. But, when I 
speak slightingly of Vestris, I forget his Tale-bearer 
in the Bottega di Cafe, and his Burbero benefico, — 
both admirable pieces of acting. 



238 GAME OP PALLONE. 

April 25th. I looked on this morning at a game 
at Pallone. This is a great improvement upon our 
Jives, It is played by parties of a certain number 
on each side, generally six against six. The pallone 
is a ball filled with air, about as big as a foot- 
ball. The players wear a sort of wooden guard, 
called Bracciale, into which the right hand is intro- 
duced; this instrument, which is in shape not unlike 
a muff, reaches half way up to the elbow, and is 
studded with short wooden points. The player, 
grasping firmly a bar fixed in the inside of the Brae- 
dale, to keep it steady, takes the ball before the bound, 
and voUies it, according to the tennis term, with 
amazing force. The object of the players is to 
prevent the ball falling within their lines. The weight 
of the Bracciale, placed as it is at the extremity of the 
arm, must require great muscular strength to support 
it, during a long game. It is a truly athletic exercise, 
and though it is said to be the ancient follis of the 
Romans, it must have undergone some alteration ; — 
for the line, 

" Folle decet pueros ludere, folle senes" 
has no application to the modern game of the Pallone. 

Joined Lucien Buonaparte's domestic circle in the 
evening. 

April 26th. Nothing is more perplexing in Italy, 
than the computation of time. It is pity that the 
Italians will not reckon their hours in the same manner 
with their neighbours. The ancient Romans divided 



COMPUTATION OF TIME. 239 

the day into twenty-four hours. Twelve of these, from 
the rising to the setting of the sun, composed their 
day, and the other twelve, from sun-set till sun-rise, 
made up the night. Hence, as the seasons changed, 
there must have been a proportionate variation in the 
length of their hours. They had however two fixed 
points ; mid-day and mid-night, which they called the 
sixth hour. 

The modern division of the Italians differs from 
this ; they divide the day and night into twenty-four 
hours, which are all of an equal length, in every 
season of the year. 

Perhaps it may be more simple to reckon twenty- 
four hours in one series, than by our double series of 
twelve and twelve. 

But the perplexity arises from their not beginning 
to reckon from some fixed point, that shall not vary ; 
as, for instance, from twelve o'clock at noon, — when 
the sun crosses the meridian every day in the year. 
The Italians call half an hour after sun-set the twenty- 
fourth hour ; and an hour and a half after sun-set, the 
first hour, or one o'clock. Hence the nominal hour 
of mid-day constantly changes with the season; in 
June it is sixteen, and in December nineteen o'clock. 

April 27th. I ought to say something of the 
pulpit eloquence of Italy, of which I have heard many 
specimens both here and at Naples. Lent is the 
great season of preaching. — There is scarcely a day, 
during that period, when you will not find some 



240 ITALIAN PREACHING. 

listening congregation, and on Wednesdays and Fri- 
days, all the principal churches are crowded. At the 
Church of the Capuchins near the Piazza Barberini, 
there is a preacher who delivers his discourses with 
the most graceful action — not theatrical but appro- 
priate — studied no doubt, but so studied as to remove 
all appearance of constraint; — no abruptness — no 
distortion — but every motion elegant and flowing, 
like the language it accompanied. At the church of 
the Jesuits also, there is an excellent preacher for the 
middle and lower classes, — plain, earnest, and affec- 
tionate, — just what we should desire in a parish priest 
in England. His sermons are practical, and his 
favourite topic repentance, which he enforces in the 
most powerful manner, though he is too fond of 
illustrating by examples taken from the Madonna and 
the Apocryphal Saints. 

But let me attempt a sketch of the great Preacher 
of all — the Frate Pacijico — a Franciscan. Pacijico 
is a ruddy, robust, portly man, with a physiognomy, 
denoting good sense and strength of intellect ; and a 
voice, sonorous, flexible, and commanding. His 
manner is earnest, even to vehemence, but wanting 
in that tenderness of appeal, which is the most winning 
talent of a Preacher. He is most successful in the 
use of indignation, or irony, of which latter weapon 
perhaps he is too fond; — dramatising the sinner's 
part, with a humour peculiar to himself. He carries 
this often to the verge, and sometimes beyond the 



ITALIAN PREACHING. 241 

verge, of the ridiculous ; — but then, recovering him- 
self in a moment with admirable address, he will 
fulminate in a dignified and terrific strain, that strikes 
conviction to the hearts of his hearers. Like most 
other extempore preachers however, he does not 
know when to have done, and seldom concludes till 
he has exhausted himself, as well as his subject. 
What this exhaustion must, be, cannot be estimated 
without remembering that Pacifico preaches in the cli- 
mate of Rome, dressed in the coarse Franciscan habit, 
— which does not comprehend the luxury of a shirt. 

I was astonished at the fearless freedom with 
which he treated his audience, careless whom he 
might offend, in a late sermon ; the leading drift of 
which was, the utter worthlessness of mere ceremonies, 
and the hypocrisy and folly of placing our reliance, or 
endeavouring to make others place reliance, on a 
scrupulous, pharisaical, observance of outward de- 
votional acts ; — and all this in the presence of sundry 
Cardinals ! 

There is no one to whom I could compare him, 
amongst our own preachers, — except perhaps Dr. 
Chalmers, — of whom he reminds me by his devoted 
earnestness, his entire absorption in his subject, and 
the fertility of his invention ; — but he has not Chalmers's 
splendour of language or variety of illustration, — his 
learning being apparently confined to his own pro- 
fession. But then, his voice, with its deep rich 
double-bass, makes up for these deficiencies. 

R 



242 ITALIAN PREACHING. 

In, -a country where there is so much preaching, 
and where almost all preaching is extempore, or at 
least memoriter, there must necessarily be many bad 
preachers, — but there are scarcely any Drawlers ; 
there is nonsense enough, but not that lifeless dull 
monotony of topic, style, and voice, which so often 
sets our own congregations to sleep. Some of them, 
particularly at Naples, are very ridiculous, from the 
vehemence of their gesticulations ; and there is always 
a crucifix in the pulpit, which often leads to the 
introduction of a dramatic style. There is a practice 
too, common to all, which, at first, is apt to excite a 
smile. The Preacher pronounces the sacred name 
without any particular observance, but as often as he 
has occasion to mention la santissima Madonna, he 
whips off his little scull- cap, with an air, that has as 
much the appearance of politeness, as of reverence. 
But lest my preaching article should grow into a Ser- 
mon, I conclude it abruptly — as most of the Italian 
Preachers do their sermons — who hurry down the stairs 
of the pulpit, without doxology, prayer, or blessing. 

April 28. Visited again and again the relics * 

* It is a remarkable circumstance that the whole Palatine 
Hill is now, with the exception of one small portion, in the pos- 
session of the English, — of that people whom the Romans used 
contemptuously to designate as " penitus toto divisos orbe Bri- 
tannos." Sir W. G. has purchased the Villa Spada, with a 
large tract of garden and vineyard, and almost all the remainder 
is the property of the English College. 



TREATMENT OF ROBBERS. 243 

of" Almighty Rome." At this delightful season 
you are tempted to pass the whole night in wandering 
among the ruins, which make a more solemn im- 
pression, than when lighted up by the " garish eye" 
of day. I have never encountered any obstruction in 
these midnight rambles, nor seen any robbers, except 
the other evening, in the castle of St. Angelo. I 
had ascended to the roof to enjoy the view, when I 
observed a party drinking wine on the leads, who 
very courteously invited me to partake of their good 
cheer. I found that these fellows were the leaders of 
a gang of robbers, for whose apprehension a large 
reward had been offered. As the robbing trade was 
becoming slack, they hit upon the ingenious expedient 
of surrendering themselves, in order to obtain it ; and 
it is not a little extraordinary that the Government 
should have consented to these terms, so that these 
fellows will, after a confinement of a year in the 
castle of St. Angelo, be let loose again upon society. 
In the mean time, they seem to live pleasantly enough ; 
the English go and talk to them about the particulars 
of their robberies, and I am told that one of our 
countrywomen has made them a handsome present. 
This is a strange mode of putting down robbers, but, 
if it were not to see strange things, who would 
be at the pains of travelling — for, after all, I believe 
Madame de Stael is right, when she calls it a " triste 
plaisir." 

April 29. Amongst the charms of an Italian 

R2 



244 SERENADING. 

evening, I ought to mention the street-singing and 
serenading. That has happened to music in Italy, 
which happens to language and style, to poetry and 
painting, and indeed to every thing else in this world. 
When a certain point of perfection has been attained, 
the progress afterwards is in a contrary direction ; 
and a corruption of taste is introduced by the very 
attempt to pursue improvement beyond that line, which 
limits all human exertion by the irreversible fiat ;— 
" thus far shalt thou go, and no farther." But 
though music must be considered as on the decline in 
Italy, there is, notwithstanding, a general diffusion of 
musical taste and musical talent, extending to the 
lowest ranks. I have often set my window open at 
night to listen to the " dying falls" of a favourite air, 
distributed into parts, and sung by a party of me- 
chanics returning home from their work, with a 
degree of skill and science that would not have dis- 
graced professional performers. The serenade is a 
compliment of gallantry, by no means confined to the 
rich. It is customary for a lover, even of the lowest 
class, to haunt the dwelling of his mistress chanting a 
rondo, or roundelay, during the period of his court- 
ship. 

One of these swains infested our neighbourhood, 
and my Italian master * caught the words, which were 

* I am sure every stranger going to Rome will thank me 
for pointing out to his notice Signor Armellini ; — a man, whose 
mind is richly stored with the treasures of ancient and modern 



PAGANINI. 245 

pretty enough ; — though, as he says is generally the 
ease, they are not reducible to the rules of Syntax : — 

" Fiori d' argento 
Che per amare a voi 
Ci ho pianto tanto 
Poveri pianti miei 
Gettati al vento." 

In saying " that the Italians have no taste for in- 
strumental music in general," I do not mean to assert 
that they have not individual performers of N consum- 
mate talent, among whom it would be injustice not to 
mention the celebrated Paganini*. He is a man of 
eccentric character, and irregular habits. Though 
generally resident at Turin, he has no fixed engage- 
literature, and of such pleasing manners, and such variety of in- 
formation, that the study of a grammar, which is usually an 
irksome task, becomes, in his hands, an agreeable recreation. 

* I subjoin the spirited description of a friend, whose musical 
science and acknowledged taste enable him to speak with much 
more authority than myself. " Paganini's performance bears 
the stamp of the eccentricity of his character. As to mechanism, 
it is quite perfect; his tune and the thrilling intonation of his 
double stops are electric ; his bow moves as if it were part of 
himself, and endued with life and feeling ; his staccato is more 
strongly marked than I ever knew, and, in the smoother pas- 
sages, there is a glassiness, if one may so say, which gives you 
the notion of the perfection of finish, and the highest refinement 
of practice. Though, in general, there is an ambition to display 
his own talents, by an excess of ornament, yet he can, if he 
will, play with simplicity and pathos, and then his power over 
the passions is equal to that of any orator or actor." 



246 pope's blessing. 

ment ; but, as occasion may require, makes a trading 
voyage through the principal cities of Italy, and can 
always procure a theatre, upon the condition of equal 
participation in the receipts. Many stories are told 
of the means by which he has acquired his astonishing 
style ; — such as his having been imprisoned ten years 
with no other resource, — and the like. But, however 
this may be, his powers over the violin are most ex- 
traordinary. 

April 30. A grand ceremony at the church of St. 
John Lateran ; at the conclusion of which the Pope, 
from the balcony, gave his blessing to the people, 
who were assembled in thousands in the large square 
below. 

As soon as the Pope appeared, there was a dis- 
charge of artillery ; the bands of military music 
struck up ; and the people sunk on their knees, un- 
covered. A solemn silence ensued, and the blessing 
was conferred. All seemed to receive this with 
reverential awe, and it was impossible not to imbibe 
a portion of the general feeling. 

In my way home I encountered his Holiness's 
equipage, and had an opportunity of observing the 
Roman mode of testifying respect to the Sovereign. 
All ranks take off their hats and fall on their knees, 
till the carriage has passed. But, this is in harmony 
with the titles which are conferred upon the Pope * 

* Let me here record the compliment with which the Pope 
lately received a party of English, upon their presentation to 



LEAVE ROME FOR FLORENCE. 24<7 

at his coronation ; when the Senior Cardinal puts the 
tiara on his head, and addresses him in these words : 
Accipe Tiaram, tribus coronis ornatam, et scias Patrem 
te esse, Principum et Regum, Rectorem orbis, in terra 
Vicarium Salvatoris nostri Jesu Christi. 

May 4th. Left Rome at sun-rise. — My carriage 
is a sort of buggy on four wheels, drawn by a single 
horse. — My bargain with my voiturier is, to be taken 
to Florence in six days, and to be fed and lodged on 
the road ; for which I am to give him twenty dollars 
The pace is tiresome enough at first ; for the horse 
seldom quits his walk, even for an equivocal amble ; 
but if you have no particular object in getting on, 
you soon become reconciled to this. Besides, it af- 
fords ample leisure for surveying the country, and 
gratifying your curiosity at any particular point, 
where you wish to deviate from the road ; for you 
may easily overtake your carriage. We halted for 
the night at Civita Castellana, — the ancient Veii*,< — as 

him; — " Ho sempre gran piacere nelvidere gV Inglesi, tanto hanno 
fatto per la causa di tutto il mondo." 

* The real Veii has been discovered at Isola Barberini, — about 
a mile and a half from La Storta, and ten from Rome. This 
discovery is not a doubtful one, but is authenticated by nume- 
rous inscriptions, which, with several marble pillars, fragments 
of temples, and statues, have been lately found here. What 
a mean opinion does this give of the prowess of the Romans, 
who, in so advanced a period of their history, could only sub- 
due a city, situated thus at their Gates, by a lucky stratagem, 
and after a ten years' siege. — 



24-8 CIVITA CASTELLANA. 

it is said, — and it saves a great deal of trouble to 
believe every thing that is said. The town is beau- 
tifully situated ; and old Soracte, under the modern 
disguise of St. Oreste, stands up boldly by himself in 
the middle of the plain, at a short distance from the 
town. 

May 5th. Left Civita Castellana before day-light, 
in order to reach Terni in good time. — Nothing can 
be more beautiful than the views on entering the, vale 
of Terni, through which the road and the river Nera 
meander. This day's journey was delightful. — It was 
a May morning, such as you may read of in England, 
in Isaac Walton's description. The scenery is always 
rich, and sometimes romantic. The features of an 
Italian landscape are very peculiar. The bold and 
the grand are constantly blended with the soft and 
the beautiful. Thus, amongst the rugged rocks of 
Terni, the ilex, the cypress, and the fir, with the 
spring leaves of the other trees of the forest, refresh 
the eye with every variety of green; while the moun- 
tain-ash, the acacia, the laburnum, and the pink- 
flowered Judas tree — all in full blossom — add a 
richness, which never belongs to the English landscape. 
Of the falls of Terni I will only say, that I enjoyed 
this charming scene, with all the embellishments that 
a lovely May evening could add to it. The day has 
its seasons like the year, and evening — rich in every 
variety of tint — is its autumn, to me the most delight- 
ful of all the seasons, whether of the day or the year. 



FALLS OF TERNI. 2¥J 

The rays of the setting sun, playing on the light 
foam of the cascade, created innumerable rainbows ; 
and the thrush, whose note is more grateful to my ear, 
than that of the nightingale herself — though I believe 
this preference must be traced to the all-powerful 
principle of association, for I have listened to her song 
in some of the happiest hours of my life — gave me 
a concert, in harmony with all around it. 

There is however, always something to disgust in 
reality ; — and much of the pleasure of my walk was 
destroyed by a troop of clamorous beggars, who 
beset me on every side ; and the more money I gave, 
the more beggars I had. This was villanous ; — for 
if ever there were a walk which " silence" ought to 
" accompany," and with which she might be " pleased," 
—it is a still evening's walk in the vale of Terni. 

The cascade has been often described; but perhaps 
no description can give a more lively idea of the im- 
pression which the first sight of it makes upon the 
spectator, than the exclamation of Wilson the painter, 
overheard by Sir Joshua Reynolds, who happened to 
be on the spot. Wilson stood for a moment in speech- 
less admiration, and then broke out, with, — " Well 
done, Water, by G — /" 

May 6th. I am more reconciled every day to 
my mode of travelling. — The weather is beautiful. 
Thirty-five miles is the average of a day's journey. 
By starting at sun-rise, one half of this is accomplished 
by ten o'clock. It is then usual to halt till two, which 



250 JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 

affords time for a siesta during the heat of the day, 
and the remainder of the journey is concluded about 
seven in the evening. To me, whose object in life 
seems unhappily confined to the task of killing time 
— till time shall kill me — no mode of travelling could 
be better suited ; and, the day, thus filled up, slips 
away imperceptibly. But, time is a sad antagonist 
to contend against ; kill him as you may, day after 
day, you find him up again fresh and revived — more 
pertinacious than Sindbad's old man — to renew the 
battle with you in the morning. Again ;— I doubt, 
all things considered, whether it be not better to travel 
by yourself, than with a companion. It is true, you 
may not always please yourself, but you may at least 
bear with your own ill humour. If you could select 
the very companion you would wish, it might alter 
the case ; — though it seems fated that all travelling 
companions should fall out; — and history is full of 
instances, from Paul and Barnabas, down to Walpole 
and Gray. — So I jog on, contented at least, if not 
happy, to be alone; — though not perhaps, without 
often feeling the truth of Marmontel's observation : 

" II est triste de voir une belle campagne, sans pouvoir 
dire h quelqu'un, Voild une belle campagne /" 

Breakfasted atSpoleto, — which held out successfully 
against Hannibal, after the battle of Thrasymene ; 
the inhabitants of which still pride themselves on the 
prowess of their ancestors, and shew the Porta d'An- 
nibale. In digging the foundation of a new bridge, 



JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 251 

the remains of an old Roman bridge have lately been 
discovered here. 

Near Foligno, I encountered a troop of pilgrims, 
on their way home from Loretto to Naples, dressed 
in picturesque uniform, and chanting the evening hymn 
to the Virgin, in very beautiful harmony. 

May 7th. Debated for some time whether I should 
pursue my route to Florence ; or proceed by way of 
Loretto and Ancona, to Bologna; but our Lady, 
when put into the scale against the heathen Goddess 
of the Tribune, immediately kicked the beam, — so I 
turned to the left, and continued my way to Perugia. 
Here my voiturier contrived to take up another pas- 
senger's luggage, without my perceiving it, and soon 
after we got out of the town, he overtook his fare, to 
whom he assigned a place on the outside, in spite of 
my remonstrances ; arguing, that I had only taken the 
inside of the carriage to myself, and that he had the 
patronage of the spare seat on the box. The shortest 
road to redress would' have been to take the law into 
my own hands ; but the appeal to force is the worst, 
and therefore should be the last resort, especially in 
this case, where the issue was doubtful, — for the odds 
were two to one. On arriving at Passignano, I ap- 
plied to the police, and brought my voiturier to his 
senses. 

By the bye, a written contract, with a voiturier, to 
be valid, ought to be signed by two witnesses, and 
stamped by the police; but when the merits of the 



252 JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 

case are plain, a stranger will generally find redress, 
in spite of informalities. If, however, you wish to 
secure the good behaviour of your voiturier, — keep 
the command of the purse in your own hands. You 
must make occasional advances on the road, but let 
these always be less than the fare. 

8th. Passignano is a miserable hamlet, on the 
brink of the lake of Perugia ; and the wretched inha- 
bitants bear witness, by their pallid appearance, to the 
pestilent air in which they live. 

Near this place is the scene of the memorable battle 
of Thrasymene. It requires no lights of generalship 
to perceive the egregious error of Flaminius, in march- 
ing his army down into a trap ; where Hannibal, by 
taking possession of the heights, completely check- 
mated, or rather, to preserve the analogy of the game, 
stale-mated him. 

Took my morning rest at Castiglioni Fiorentino, a 
beautiful village, in the Tuscan dominions. The change 
in the appearance of the country, or rather of the in- 
habitants, as^you leave the dominions of the Pope, 
and enter the Grand Duke's territories, is very much 
in favour of the latter. 

In the Papal States all is slovenly and squalid; 
there seems to be no middle link in the chain of society 
between the cardinal and the beggar. 

In Tuscany, the very cottages are neat and orna- 
mental ; and there is in the dress and the appearance of 
the peasantry something which bespeaks a sense of 



AGRICULTURE. 253 

self-respect, and a taste for comforts, which will never 
be found where the peasantry is in a state of hopeless 
vassalage. 

It was now the hay-making season, and the women, 
in their neat picturesque dresses, and tasteful straw- 
hats, handled their rakes with an elegance of manner 
that would have suited a scene in Arcadia. 

After a long drive through a delightful country, I 
arrived two hours after dark at Rimaggio. The night 
was beautiful ; the air cool and sweet, and the night- 
ingales singing all round us. A meagre supper. — 
Mine host said it was the positive order of the govern- 
ment, and that he should be exposed to a fine, if he 
allowed any meat to be dressed in his house on a 
Friday ; so that it was in vain I pleaded my heretical 
right to eat what I pleased. 

The cheapness of living in Italy, and the imposition 
practised upon travellers, may be collected from the 
price a voiturier pays for the supper at the table d'h6te, 
and the lodging of his passengers, which I have ascer- 
tained to be four Pauls per head; — something less 
than two shillings. The common charge to an Eng- 
lishman travelling post, who does not fare a whit bet- 
ter, is ten Pauls for dinner, and as many more for 
lodging. 

Mai/ 9th. This day's journey carried me through 
a poorer country than I have yet seen. I conversed 
a good deal with the peasants, but found them too ig- 
norant to explain much of their own economy. Their 



254 AGRICULTURE. 

farms seemed to be very small, — seldom exceeding 
thirty acres. There is no such thing as capital amongst 
them ; the landlord finds implements of all kinds, seed, 
and manure ; and divides the produce with the tenant, 
after the manner of the French Metayers. In their 
mode of cultivation, manual labour appears to bear a 
much greater proportion to the other means of pro- 
duction than in ours. For certain crops, the ground 
is broken entirely with the spade. I observed no farm 
servants, but the peasant's whole family, male and fe- 
male, mustered in the field. Their fare seemed to be 
very poor ; a mess of lupini boiled up in a little broth, 
and washed down with a very weak sour wine, was 
the dinner, of which they invited me to partake. In 
the richer parts of Tuscany, large farms and rich 
farmers are not uncommon. The breed of cattle is 
large and fine, and invariably of a grey dove colour. 
At Incisa, to-day, I saw a calf being led to the 
slaughter-house; adorned about the head and horns, 
like a victim in an ancient sacrifice. Other ancient 
customs still linger in the mountainous parts of this 
country, where the people still believe and practise 
the mysteries of augury, a science in which their 
Etruscan ancestors were so deeply learned. Indeed, 
it was from them that the Romans derived it : — " Quo 
circa benl apud major es nostros Senatus turn, cumflo- 
rebat Imperium, decrevit, ut de principum jiliis sex sin- 
gulis Etruriw populis in disciplinam traderentur, ne ars 
tanta propter tenuitatem hominum, a religionis aucto- 



AGRICULTURE. . 255 

ritate abduceretur, admercedematqiwqucestum" Cic. 
de Div. However we may now laugh at such a pre- 
tended science, we need not wonder, when we remem- 
ber to how late a period the belief in witchcraft has 
continued in our own country, that it was made the 
subject of a controvery in the age of Cicero, whether 
there was any real 'power of divining to be collected 
from the flight of birds ; and the supporter of this opi- 
nion dedicated his book to Cicero himself. 

Two years ago, when the scarcity of provisions was 
so severely felt throughout Italy, the inhabitants of 
the Tuscan Apennines, who rely very much upon 
chestnuts for their support, would have been almost ex- 
terminated, from the complete failure of that crop, had 
they not been persuaded, the year before, into the 
more general cultivation of the potatoe. The preju- 
dice against it was so great, that it was only by offer- 
ing a reward to each peasant, for a certain quantity 
of his own cultivation, that the government succeeded 
in the attempt. It is to the credit of the Tuscan cha- 
racter, that numbers, who in the time of famine had 
felt the benefit and importance of this vegetable, 
when they produced certificates of their being entitled 
to the government bounty, declined accepting it ; de- 
claring that they no longer wanted bribing into the 
belief of the great utility of a plant, to which they 
owed the preservation of their lives. , 

After a broiling day's journey, I caught a view of 
fair Florence, from the top of the last hill, with all its 



256 FLORENCE. 

domes and towers glittering in the last rays of the 
setting sun. Thinking the character of my equipage 
little suited to the magnificence of Schneiderf s hotel, 
I established myself at the Pelican ; a good house, and 
much better adapted than Schneiderf's to the finances 
of a man who does not travel en grand Seigneur. 



257 



CHAPTER IX. 

State of Society in Italy— Cavalier e Servente System 
—Italian Language — Bologna — Journey to Venice 
—St. Mark's Place — Fall of Venice — Gondolas — 
Rialto — Journey to Milan — Verona — Napoleon 
Buonaparte — Austrian Dominion — Plain of Lom- 
bardy. 

May 16th. AFTER six days of continued tra- 
velling, a short season of repose succeeds as an 
agreeable vicissitude. Let me employ a portion of 
it, in recording my impressions of the moral and 
political state of the country, in which I have been 
sojourning. 

The discontent of the people, particularly in the 
Papal and Neapolitan states, is loud and open;— 
for, though the liberty of the press is unknown, they 
indulge in the fullest freedom of speech, in canvassing 
the conduct of their rulers. There is indeed ample 
cause for discontent ;— the people seem every day 
more impatient of the civil and ecclesiastical op- 
pressions, to which they are subjected ; — and a re- 
volution is the common topic of conversation. If 
there were any rational hope of revolution bringing 
improvement, it would be difficult not to wish for a 
revolution in Italy. 



258 STATE OF SOCIETY IN ITALY. 

A revolution, however, to be productive of be- 
nefit, ought to be effected by the quiet operation of 
public opinion; that is, of the virtuous and well 
informed part of the public ; — and this would be, 
not revolution, but reform — the best way of pre- 
venting a revolution, in the modern sense of that 
term. But, where shall we look, in Italy, for the 
elements of such a , reform ? There can be little 
hope of its political amelioration, till some improve- 
ment has taken place in its moral condition. How 
can any thing great or good be expected from a 
people, where the state of society is so depraved, 
as to tolerate the cavaliere servente system ? — a system, 
which sanctions the public display of apparent, if not 
real, infidelity to the most important and religious 
engagement of domestic life. And yet, constituted 
as society is in Italy, this system ought perhaps to 
excite little surprise. For, marriage is here, for the 
most part, a mere arrangement of convenience ; and 
the parties often meet, for the first time, at the foot 
of the altar. An Italian does not expect from such 
an union, the happiness of home, with the whole train 
of domestic charities which an Englishman associates 
with the marriage-state ; the spes animi credula mutui 
is certainly not the hope of an Italian husband, — and 
the Cavaliere robs him of nothing, which he is not 
quite content to spare. 

It is indeed, nine times in ten, to the fault of the 
husband, that the infidelity of the wife is to be as- 



CAVALIERE SERVENTE SYSTEM. 259 

cribed. This is a reflection I have often made to 
Italian men, who have always seemed disposed to 
admit the truth of it ; but the truth is better attested 
by the exemplary conduct of those women, whose 
husbands take upon themselves to perform the offices 
of affection, that are ordinarily left to the Cavalier e. 
An Italian said to me one day, " Una donna ha 
sempre bisogno d'appoggiarsi ad un uomo /" — If she 
cannot repose her cares and her confidence in the 
bosom of her husband, is it very surprising that she 
should seek some other support? Consider the cha- 
racter of the Italian woman. Ardent and impassioned, 
— jealous of admiration, — enthusiastic alike in love 
or in resentment,— she is tremblingly alive to the pro- 
vocations which she has so often to endure from the 
open neglect and infidelity of the man, who has 
sworn to love and protect her. 

The spretw injuria format is an insult which has 
provoked colder constitutions than the Italian, to reta- 
liate. What indeed is there to restrain her ? — a sense 
of duty ? — there is no such sense. An Italian woman 
is accustomed to consider the conjugal duties as 
strictly reciprocal, and would laugh to scorn, as 
tame and slavish submission, the meek and gentle 
spirit which prompted the reply of the " divine Des- 
demona" — 

" Unkindness may do much ; 

And his unkindness may defeat my life, 

But never taint my love." 

And while there is so little to restrain, the effect 

S 2 



260 CAVALIERE SERVENTE SYSTEM. 

of example is to encourage her to follow the bent 
of her inclinations ; and she is attended by a licensed 
seducer, privileged to approach her at all hours, and 
at full liberty to avail himself of all the aid that 
importunity and opportunity can lend him, for the 
accomplishment of his purpose. 

These observations can only be meant to apply to 
the higher classes of society, to which the Cavaliere 
system is confined ; and it must not be supposed, even 
amongst these, that there are not many examples of 
domestic virtue and domestic happiness ; — or that 
husbands and wives may not be found in Italy, as in 
other places, fondly and faithfully attached to each 
other. Nor is it always a criminal connexion 
that subsists between a Lady and her Cavaliere, 
though it is generally supposed to be so ; but, many 
instances might be cited, where it is well known that 
it is not. 

There is indeed a sort of mysticism in the tender 
passion, as it seems always to have existed in this 
country, which it is difficult to understand or explain. 
Platonic love, in the verses of Petrarch, if indeed 
Petrarch's love were Platonic, glows with a rapturous 
warmth, which often speaks the very language of a 
grosser feeling; while the most depraved of all pas- 
sions has been clothed with a tenderness and delicacy 
of sentiment and expression, which would seem to 
belong only to our purest affections. Witness Ho- 
race's address to Ligurinus : — 



CAVALIERE SERVENTE SYSTEM. 261 

Sed cur heii Ligurine> cur, 

Manat rara meas lacryma^per genas ? 

Cur facunda parum decoro, 

Inter verba cadit lingua silentio ? 

What can be more tender, unless it be Pope's 
beautiful imitation — 

But why ah ! tell me ah ! too dear ! 
Steals down my cheek th' involuntary tear ? 
Why words so flowing, thoughts so free, 
Stop or turn nonsense at one glance of thee ? 

But to return ; — the Cavaliere system must ever 
remain the great moral blot in the Italian character ; 
— and yet, this system, founded as it is in the viola- 
tion of all laws and feelings, has its own peculiar 
regulations, which it would be an unpardonable breach 
of etiquette to transgress. The Lady must not have 
children by her Paramour ; — at least, the notoriety of 
such a fact would be attended with the loss of repu- 
tation. What can be said of a state of society that 
can tolerate such things, but, — " Reform it alto- 
gether." 

I am afraid the morals of England will not derive 
much benefit from familiarizing our countrywomen 
to hear these connexions talked of, as they constantly 
are, without censure or surprise. It would be im- 
possible, however, to introduce the system into 
England, as it exists here. 

Few Englishmen would be found to bear the yoke 
that is here imposed on a Cavaliere. An Italian, 



262 



CAVALIERE SERVENTE SYSTEM. 



without pursuit or profession, may find in this phi- 
landering drudgery a pleasant mode of employing 
his time; but in England, politics and field-sports, 
would, if no better feelings or principles should op- 
pose its introduction, be in themselves sufficient to 
interfere with such a system of female supremacy. 
But, though much may be feared from familiarity 
with vice, I would rather hope, that a nearer con- 
templation of its evil consequences will induce them 
to cling with closer affection to the moral habits 
and institutions of their own country, where the value 
of virtue and fidelity is still felt, and appreciated as 
it ought to be ; — and to cultivate with increasing 
vigilance all those observances, which have been 
wisely set up as bulwarks to defend and secure the 
purity of the domestic sanctuary. 

I remember, Fuller says — " Travel not beyond 
the Alps. Mr. Ascham did thank God, that he was 
but nine days in Italy ; wherein he saw in one city 
more liberty to sin, than in London he had ever 
heard of in nine years. That some of our gentry 
have gone thither and returned thence, without in- 
fection, I more praise God, than their adventure." 
If he entertained apprehensions for the " travel- 
tainted" gentry of his time, we may well feel anxiety 
for the ladies of our own ; feeling as we must, that 
it is to the female virtues of England we should 
look, not only for the happiness of our homes, — but 
also for the support of that national character, which 



THE VENUS. 263 

has led to all our national greatness ;— for the cha- 
racter of a nation is ever mainly determined by the 
institutions of domestic life ; — and it is to the in- 
fluence of maternal precept and maternal example 
upon the mind of childhood, that all the best virtues 
of manhood may ultimately be traced. 

Mai/ 17th. The Venus pleases me more than ever. 
There is nothing in Rome, or elsewhere, that can be 
compared with her. There is that mysterious some- 
thing about her, quod nequeo monstrare, et sentio 
tantum, impressed by the master-touch, which is as 
inexplicable as the breath of life. It is this in- 
communicable something, which no copy or cast, 
however accurate, is able to catch. I doubt whether 
the same thing can be observed of the Apollo ; 
whence I am inclined to believe the notion, which, 
it is said, was first started by Flaxman, — that the 
Apollo itself is but a copy. The style of the finish- 
ing has certainly not the air of an original work; — 
it possesses little of that indefinable- spirit and free- 
dom, which are the characteristics of those pro- 
ductions, in which the author follows only the con- 
ceptions of his own mind. The form and disposition 
of the drapery are said to afford technical evidence 
of the strongest kind, that the statue must have been 
originally executed in bronze ; and the materials of 
which the Apollo is composed, which, it seems, are 
at last determined to be Italian marble, favour the 
same opinion, 



26 I ITALIAN LANGUAGE. 

May 18th. The Tuscan dialect sounds harshly, 
and almost unintelligibly, after the soft and sonorous 
cadence of the Roman pronunciation. However pure 
the lingua Toscana may be, the bocca Romana seems 
necessary to give it smoothness. It is delightful to 
listen to the musical flow of the words, even inde- 
pendently of their sense. Then how pretty are their 
diminutives ! What answer could be invented more 
soothing to impatient irritability than — " mamentino 
Signore?" The Romans however are too apt to 
fall into a sort of sing-song recitative, while the 
Tuscans — that is, the lower orders — offend you with 
a guttural rattle, not unlike the Welsh. There is 
perhaps no coimtry where the dialects vary more, 
than in the different provinces of Italy. The lan- 
guage of Naples and the Milanese is a sort of 
Babylonish jargon, little better than gibberish. The 
origin of the Italian language has long been a subject 
of discussion. The literati of Florence are fond of 
tracing it up to Etruscan antiquity. We know that 
Etruria had a language of its own, distinct from the 
Latin. This was the language in which the Sibyl 
was supposed to have delivered her oracles, and in 
which the augurs interpreted the mysteries of their 
profession. Livy says, " Habeo auctores, vulgo turn 
Romanos pueros, sicut nunc Greets, ita Etruscis 
Uteris erudiri solitos." This language is by some sup- 
posed to have continued to exist during the whole 
time of the Romans, as the sermo vulgaris — the 



ITALIAN LANGUAGE. 265 

patois — which was in common use amongst the 
peasantry of the country ; while the Latin was con- 
fined to the higher classes, and the capital ; — -to the 
senate, the forum, the stage, and to literature. 

This opinion does not seem entirely destitute of 
probability. We have living evidence in our own 
island of the difficulty of changing the language of 
a people. In France too, till within the last half 
century, the southern provinces were almost utterly 
ignorant of French ; and, even at present, the lower 
classes of the peasantry never speak French, but 
continue to make use of a patois of the old Pro- 
vencal language. 

In like manner it is supposed by many, that pure 
Latin was confined to the capital and to high life ; 
while the ancient Etruscan, which had an additional 
support in being consecrated to the service of re- 
ligion, always maintained its ground as the colloquial 
patois of the greatest part of Italy. Thus, when 
Rome fell, the polished language of the capital fell 
with it; but the patois of the common people re- 
mained, and still remains, in an improved edition, 
in the language of modern Italy. For, if this be 
not so, we must suppose, first, that the Etruscan 
was rooted out by the Latin, and that the Latin has 
again yielded in its turn to a new tongue. But inno- 
vations in language, are the slowest of all in working 
their way ; and if the pure Latin of the classics had 
ever been the colloquial language of the common 



266 ITALIAN LANGUAGE. 

people, some living evidence of it would surely have 
been discovered, as we now find the ancient language 
of the Britons lingering in the fastnesses of Wales 
and Cornwall ; — but no information is handed down 
to us by which we can ascertain when Latin was the 
common spoken language of Italy, or at what period 
it ceased to exist. 

Still however, on the other hand, it is perhaps 
equally extraordinary, that we should meet with no 
traces of this colloquial patois, in the writings of the 
ancients. Some allusion indeed is made, by Quinti- 
lian, to the sermo militaris—a, dialect in use among 
the soldiery ; — but if the language of the common 
people was so distinct, as it is supposed, it is strange 
that we do not rind more direct mention of it ; espe- 
cially in the plays of Plautus, who with his love of 
broad humour, might naturally have been expected, 
after the example of Aristophanes, to have availed 
himself of such a source of the ridiculous. And when 
one reads in modern Italian, such lines as the follow- 
ing, the parent language seems to stand confessed in 
the identity of the resemblance ; 

In mare irato, in subita procella 
Invoco te nostra beuigna Stella. 

Or, again, 

Vivo in acerba pena, in mesto orrore, 
Quando te non imploro, in te non spero : 
Furissima Maria, et in sincero 
Te non adoro, et in divino ardore. 



ITALIAN LANGUAGE. 267 

These lines however were probably studiously 
composed in this indiscriminate character ; — and they 
might be counterbalanced by examples of early Ro- 
man inscriptions, which certainly bear more affinity 
to the modern Italian, than to the Latin ; — and this 
would seem to shew that the two languages might 
have existed and gone on progressively together. 
After considering therefore all that is urged by oppo- 
site writers on this subject, one is reduced to the 
conclusion of Sir Roger de Coverley, of happy me- 
mory :— that much may be said on both sides. Thus 
much is certain ; that at least the guttural accent of 
Tuscany is as old as Catullus ; who has ridiculed it 
in one of his epigrams : — 

Chommoda dicebat, si quando commoda vellet 
Dicere, et hinsidias, Arrius insidias. 

May 19th. An evening at Fiesole, — which is 
situated on a commanding eminence, about three 
miles distant from Florence. The country is now 
in the highest beauty. Spring is the season for 
Italy. We have little Spring or Summer in England, 
— except in Thomson's Seasons. Climate, if it do 
not constitute the happiness, is a very important ingre- 
dient in the comfort, of life. An evening or night, 
in an Italian villa, at this season of nightingales, 
and moonlight, is a most delicious treat. How could 
Shakspeare write as he has done, without having 
been in Italy I Some of his garden scenes breathe 



268 ITALIAN SPRING. 

the very life of reality. And yet if he had been here, 
I think he would not have omitted all allusion to the 
fire-fly, a little flitting insect, that adds much to the 
charm of the scene. The whole garden is illuminated 
by myriads of these sparkling lights, sprinkled about 
with as much profusion as spangles on a lady's 
gown. 

There is something delightfully pleasant in the vo- 
luptuous languor, which the soft air of an Italian 
evening occasions ; — and then the splendour of an 
Italian sun-set ! I shall never forget the impression 
made upon me by a particular evening. The sun 
had just gone down, leaving the whole sky dyed with 
the richest tints of crimson, — while the virgin snows of 
the distant mountains were suffused with blushes of 
" celestial rosy red;" when, from an opposite quar- 
ter of the heavens, there seemed to rise another 
sun, as large, as bright, and as glowing, as that 
which had just departed. It was the moon at the 
full ; — and the illusion was so complete, that it re- 
quired some few moments to convince me that I was 
not in Fairy Land. 

But one season is wanting ; — there is no interval 
between day and night, and the " sober livery" of 
grey twilight is here unknown. Night however, of 
which we know little in England, but as it is con- 
nected with fire and candle, is now the most charm- 
ing period of the whole twenty-four hours ; and there 
are no unwholesome dews, no sore-throat bringing 



BOLOGNA. 269 

damps, to disturb your enjoyment with fears of to- 
morrow's consequences. 

20th. Left Florence at day -break, travelling as 
before in a voiturier's carriage ; indeed, little would 
be gained in point of speed by travelling post, be- 
tween this place and Bologna: for the road is so 
hilly, that you must necessarily be limited to a foot- 
pace. I was stopped at the custom-house on re-en- 
tering the Papal dominions, where they obliged me 
to pay the full value of a parcel of Italian books, 
that I had with me, giving me an order to receive 
the same again at the frontier custom-house, when I 
should quit the Pope's dominions. It was explained 
to me that this was merely intended as a necessary 
precaution ; — for it might be that I was a book-mer- 
chant, and wished to sell these books in the Pope's 
territories, without paying the entrance duties. As 
there seemed no help for it, I was obliged to comply 
with the demand ; and take the officer's word, that the 
scrap of paper he gave me, would reproduce my 
money at the opposite extremity of his Holiness's 
territories. 

We slept at the half-way house between Florence 
and Bologna. 

May 21st. Wild romantic road over the Apen- 
nines ; — recalling the descriptions of Mrs. Radcliffe 
in her Romance of Udolpho. Reached Bologna 
early in the morning. Grand fete of Corpus Christi. 
All the streets were hung with satin, and covered in 



270 BOLOGNA. 

with splendid awnings, which oh this occasion were of 
more use against the rain than the sun. 

One of the most striking ornaments of the town is 
John of Bologna's bronze Neptune, who presides over 
a fountain in the great square ; but there is a poverty 
of water, and Neptune seems here — out of his element. 

May 22d. The more you travel, the less you 
will rely upon the descriptions of guides and itine- 
raries. There are no degrees in their descriptions, 
and all you collect from them, in general, is, the 
ignorance of the compilers. One of these compares 
the leaning lump of brick at Bologna, w T hich looks 
like the chimney of a steam engine blown a little out 
of the perpendicular, to the graceful and elegant 
tower of Pisa. Bologna is very rich in paintings ;-— 
the works of Guido, collected here, have shewn him 
to me in a new light ; and have convinced me that 
I had not hitherto formed a just estimate of his merit. 
There is a force and grandeur, in some of these, of 
which the generality of his pictures evince little indi- 
cation. The Crucifixion, and the Massacre of the 
Innocents, are specimens of the highest excellence of 
composition and execution*. 

It is necessary to come to Bologna, to appreciate 
properly the excellence of Guido, Dominichino, and 
the fraternity of Caracci. The Persecution of the 
Albigenses, by Dominichino, — a magnificent picture. 

* The St. Peter and St. Paul y which is at Milan, is another 
specimen of Guido's best manner. 



BOLOGNA. 271 

A Madonna, by Ludovico Caracci, — exquisitely ele- 
gant ; — but then it is the elegance and refinement of a 
woman of fashion. She is not the Madonna, such as 
Raphael has represented her, and such as she will ever 
exist personified in the imagination of him who has 
seen Raphael's pictures. A Transfiguration, by the 
same painter, — an admirable conception of a subject 
which, with reverence to Raphael be it spoken, does 
not seem adapted to painting. 

The -Cecilia of Raphael has, I suspect, been re- 
touched, and spoilt, at Paris. 

Bologna is a clean and well-built town ; though the 
arcades, which project in front of the houses, give it 
a heavy appearance. The fish-market is excellently 
arranged, with streams of water running through it, 
securing cleanliness. 

This is a country famous for the excellence of its 
frogs, though the French alone bear the reproach of 
eating them ; — if reproach there be in eating a very 
excellent dish. 

The reproach might, perhaps, with more reason, 
be directed against the prejudice that prevents us 
from availing ourselves of the plentiful provision which 
nature has put within our reach. But I suppose 
nothing would induce the lower classes in England to 
have resource to such means of subsistence, however 
wholesome and nutritious. 

The fish-market was full of frogs, ready prepared 
for dressing, and trussed upon skewers ; in the manner 



272 JOURNEY TO VENICE. 

described in a simile of Ariosto, where he says, that 
Orlando spitted his enemies upon his spear, — like frogs 
upon a skewer. 

After a long morning of picture gazing and sight- 
seeing, I contrived to reach Tedo in the evening, on 
my way to Venice, 

May 23rd. Halted at noon at Ferrara, — a large 
dull dilapidated town; which contains nothing to 
interest or detain you, unless you can derive pleasure 
from visiting the prison in which Tasso was confined, 
and expectorating a few imprecations against the 
tyranny of his oppressor ; though, perhaps, after all 
the more recent opinion may be better founded ; — 
that Alphonso confined the insane poet out of pure 
good will. 

Reached Ponte Lago-scuro early in the evening, 
the last town of the Papal territory ; where I was 
agreeably surprised by the recovery of my deposit 
money, without deduction or difficulty; — and so good 
bye to the Pope and the Cardinals ! — with whom I 
wish to part in charity and good humour ; though it is 
difficult to preserve those feelings towards them, amidst 
the constant vexations to which one is subjected in 
travelling through their dominions. 

Quitted my carriage at Lago-scuro ; and crossing 
the Po — which is here much like the Thames at 
Putney — agreed with the Venetian courier for a 
place in his boat to Venice. The fare is 17 francs 25 
cents ; and for this he not only conveys yourself and 



VENICE. 273 

your baggage a distance of 80 miles, but also pro- 
vides a table for you on the way. 

Excellent boat ; — the cabin fitted up with a settle 
on each side the table, in which a seat was elbowed in, 
for each person. 

May 24th. On mounting the deck this morning, 
at sun-rise, I found we had glided about forty miles 
down the stream in the course of the night, and were 
at the gate of the lock, where we were to quit the 
Po, to enter a canal, which connects this river with 
the Adige. From the height of the Po, it was 
judged unsafe to open the gate of the lock, for fear of 
inundating the whole country ; so that we were 
obliged to wait, till the courier from Venice arrived 
with his boat on the other side of the gate. 

This occasioned a delay of five hours ; and when 
he did come, we had to shift passengers and baggage 
on both sides. 

We soon got into the Adige ; after floating down 
which for a few miles, we entered another canal, 
which brought us into one of the lagune that lead to 
Venice. 

The accommodations of the passage boat must be 
greatly improved since Arthur Young's time, whose 
description had almost deterred me from venturing 
the experiment. Every thing was well managed ; 
our courier gave us an admirable dinner ; and at sun- 
set, we caught a glimpse of the domes of Venice, 
rising out of the sea. 

T 



274 st. mark's place. 

It was midnight before we reached the post-office. 

May 25th. Breakfasted at a cafe in the Piazza of 
St. Mark. After threading a narrow line of alleys, 
not half the width of that of Cranbourne, I came un- 
expectedly upon this grand square, the first sight of 
which is very striking. It would be difficult to 
compare it with any thing. It is unique ; rich, 
venerable, magnificent. The congregation of all 
nations, in their various costumes, who lounge under 
the purple awnings of the caKs — smoking, playing 
at chess, and quaffing coffee — add much to its em- 
bellishment, and are in character with the buildings ; 
where all orders of architecture seem jumbled to- 
gether. The cathedral certainly belongs to no single 
one ; — it is of a mixed breed, between a Mahometan 
mosque, and a Christian church ; but, when it was 
built, the imaginations of the Venetians were full of 
Constantinople, and the glorious exploits of Dandolo. 
The famous horses which he brought in triumph to 
Venice, as the trophies of his conquest of Constan- 
tinople, have again resumed their place over the portal 
of the cathedral. 

In this age of scepticism, it is doubted whether 
these are indeed the famous horses of Lysippus which 
have made so much noise in history, connected with 
the names of Nero, Trajan, and Constantine ; and a 
passage is quoted from the Byzantine Fathers, to 
prove that they were cast at Chios, so late as the 
fourth century. However this be, I think they are 



st. mark's place. 275 

scarcely worth the trouble that has been taken about 
them, that is, for any merit they have as repre- 
sentations of horses ; — though, if their identity be 
made out, they are great curiosities, as historical 
memorials of the rapacity of conquerors, and the in- 
stability of fortune. The fashion of hogging the 
mane, ugly as it is, may plead the example of these 
horses in its favour. They were reinstated in their 
former place at Venice, with great pomp and cere- 
mony ; and the Emperor Francis has recorded in a 
golden inscription, the robbery of the French, and his 
own triumph : 

QUATUOR EQUORUM S1GNA A VENETIS BYZANTIO 

CAPTA, ad temp: d: mar: a. r. s. mcciv posita — 

quje hostilis cupid1tas a. mdcciiic abstulerat 

franc: i. imp: pacis orbi t>atm tropileum a. 
mdcccxv victor reduxit. 

I rejoice that the horses have been restored, and 
that France has been made to disgorge all her 
plunder ; but they should not throw stones who live in 
a house of glass. The French had surely as much 
right to take them from Venice, as Dandolo had to 
bring them thither ; — in both cases, it was but the 
right of the strongest. 

Before the door of the cathedral stand three bare 
poles, where formerly the flags of Crete, Cyprus, and 
the Morea, the three vassal kingdoms of the haughty 
republic, floated in the wind. 

May 26th. Though there is enough in the his- 
torical recollections of Venice, to invest it with 

Tg 



276 DUCAL PALACE. 

great interest, yet there is a further and more power- 
ful fascination in its scenery, which is derived from the 
magic illusions of poetry. 

At least, in my own case, I confess that I thought 
more of Shakspeare, and Otway — Othello and Shy- 
lock — Pierre and Jaffier — than of Dandolo and all 
his victories. It is wonderful how much place aids 
the effect of poetry. Went over the Ducal Palace, 
and sat in the seat of the Doge. The hall, where the 
senate used to assemble, remains in its ancient state. 
The chamber, in which the famous Council of Ten 
held their meetings, was converted by Napoleon into 
a Court of Cassation. 

The hall of the general assembly is now a library ; 
where there are some beautiful remains of ancient 
sculpture. The rape of Ganymede is an exquisite 
little morsel, and is thought to be the work of Phidias 
himself. Leda and her Swan is a bijou in the same 
taste. It is surprising that the French, who knew 
so well what to steal, should have overlooked two 
articles that might have been so easily carried 
away. 

The famous lion's mouth is destroyed. The bridge 
of Sighs — il Ponte dei Sospiri — connects the ducal 
palace with the state-prison. Criminals were brought 
through a covered way over this bridge, from their 
dungeons, to the tribunal of the Council of Ten. Cri- 
minal proceedings are still carried on in secret, and I 
saw to-day a man being conducted back to prison 



FALL OF VENICE. 277 

after trial, through the covered passage over the 
bridge of Sighs. 

It is impossible to walk through these splendid 
chambers, decorated with pictures commemorating 
the most brilliant achievements, and the most signal 
examples, of the ancient power and glory of the Ve- 
netian republic, without feeling sorrow for its present 
condition. The only consolation the people seem to 
feel is something like king Arthur's in Tom Thumb, 
who congratulates himself that he has at least out-lived 
all his neighbours ; 

" Thus all our pack upon the floor is cast, 
And my sole boast is, that I die the last." 

Thus, the Venetians appeal with triumph to their 
fourteen centuries of power ; — a longer duration than 
that enjoyed by any other people on record. Four- 
teen centuries were indeed a pretty long reign ; but, 
in fact, the republic had ceased to exist before the in- 
vasion of the French. Napoleon gave the coup de 
grace, but the life of the commonwealth was already 
extinct. The government had degenerated into an 
oligarchical tyranny, of all tyrannies the most detest- 
able ; and the people had nothing left to fight for. It 
is ever thus ; for it seems, that there is in all govern- 
ments a tendency to abuse, and it ought perhaps rather 
to excite surprise, that Venice endured so long, than 
that she fell at last. 

The Doge, and his Privy Council, yielded without 
a struggle at the first approach of the enemy ; and in- 



278 FALL OF VENICE. 

stead of dying " with harness on their backs," they 
betrayed the interests of their country, to make fa- 
vourable terms for themselves with the conqueror. 
Junot delivered Buonaparte's threatening letter to the 
Doge himself in council ; — thus insulting him to his 
face by the grossest breach of the laws of the repub- 
lic. In the last scene of all, the Doge had the base- 
ness to propose, and the Grand Council had the base- 
ness to consent to a still more disgraceful compliance 
with the demands of Buonaparte ; who insisted, as a 
preliminary condition to a treaty, that the three State 
Inquisitors, and the naval commander, who had alone 
evinced courage to do their duty in the defence of 
their country, should, for this very performance of 
their duty, be arrested and brought to trial. 

A few days afterwards, the Doge and the Council 
in full assembly, with pusillanimous unanimity, voted 
their own abdication. Such was the last inglorious 
act of a republic, that had endured for fourteen hun- 
dred years. " Oh lame and impotent conclusion !" 

Thus fell the Republic of Venice ; and when a re- 
public does fall, — she falls like Lucifer, never to rise 
again. If there had been no hostility on the part of 
the great ones of the world to the re-establishment of 
her free government, I believe, it would have been 
impossible to find in Venice that life-blood of public 
spirit, which is necessary to restore animation and 
energy to the body politic of a commonwealth. A 
republic indeed cannot be restored ; it is a constitu- 



CHURCHES. 279 

tion that must be claimed, and won, by the spirit and 
courage of the people themselves ; and where these 
qualities are wanting, a republic would not be main- 
tained if it were restored. It is not every people that 
is fit to be free ; and Machiavel has long ago pro- 
nounced, that to make a servile people free, is as diffi- 
cult a task, as to make a free people slaves. 

May 27th. Established myself at the Albergo Fav- 
retti, near the grand ducal palace, commanding a fine 
view of the sea. I should prefer this in all respects 
to either of the two great hotels, even if it it had not 
many recommendations on the score of economy. I 
give my landlord seven francs per day ; for which I 
have an excellent room, with breakfast and dinner, 
both good of their kind. Venice abounds in all sorts 
of fish ; — mullet, thunny, an excellent variety of the 
sturgeon, and the S. Pietro, or, as it is sometimes 
called — II Janitore — from which is derived our own 
corruption of John Dory. 

A tour amongst churches and palaces ; but I am 
tired of churches as curiosities to be stared at ; and 
having seen St. Peter's, I shall content myself with the 
maxim of omne mqjus continet in se minus, and be satis- 
fied with my own parish church, for the rest of my life. 

Venice is rich in the works of her own Titian ; his 
two most celebrated pictures are the Martyrdom of 
a St. Peter, not the apostle St. Peter, in the church 
of St. Paul, and the Assumption of the Virgin, in the 
academy. 



280 TITIAN ARSENAL. 

Connoisseurs have lavished encomiums upon these 
productions of Titian in the grand style of composition, 
but I confess, I like him better when he confines him- 
self to " the primrose path of dalliance ;" for, it is in 
the representation of the soft and the beautiful, em- 
bellished with all the rich and glowing varieties of 
colour, that he seems to follow the bent of his genius, 
and to paint con amove. There are also many splen- 
did works of Paul Veronese, and of Tintoretto. 

Visited the arsenal ; where there were accommo- 
dations for building six and thirty ships of war, under 
cover ; — but, the ships, and the commerce of Venice 
have vanished with its freedom. There is now 
scarcely a cock-boat in the harbour. The vulgar are 
taught to believe, that England abstained from exer- 
cising her influence in procuring the restoration of 
the Republic, from feelings of commercial jealousy. 
Nobody seems to doubt our power to have effected 
this good work, both in the case of Venice, and of 
Genoa. But, if it really were in our power, it is in- 
deed difficult to account for our supineness. All 
commercial considerations would have prompted us 
to further this measure ; for, excluded as our ma- 
nufactures are from the Continental States, at least, 
as far as the governments can exclude them, it would 
have been greatly to the advantage of England, that 
free commercial states should have been established at 
Venice and Genoa, which would have afforded chan- 
nels of communication for the introduction of English 



281 



goods to the whole south of Europe. Austria would 
willingly, if she could, exclude all English manufac- 
tures ; but the effect of her rigorous prohibitions, is 
to put that money into the pockets of the custom- 
house officers, which she would otherwise receive 
herself, in the shape of duties. The bribery of the 
custom-house has been reduced to a regular system, 
and the insurance of the safe arrival of goods at 
Vienna, is negotiated upon an accurate calculation of 
these expenses. 

In the evening, I mounted to the top of St. Mark's 
tower, where Galileo used to hold commerce with the 
skies. It commands a fine panoramic view of Venice, 
and shews you all the details of this wonderful town, 
which rises out of the waters like the ark of the deluge. 

The height of the tower is about 330 feet, and 
when you look down to the busy crowds below, in 
St. Mark's Place, they look like bees in a hive, or 
ants in a molehill, crawling about, without any appa- 
rent object. 

May 28th. The gondolas afford a pleasant loung- 
ing mode of moving about Venice. These light 
sharp-beaked boats glide along with great rapidity. 
In the middle of them is a sort of tented cabin, 
covered with a black cloth awning, which gives them 
a very funereal appearance. This universal black 
colour was imposed by a sumptuary law of the Re- 
public, to check the extravagant expense in which it 
had become the fashion to indulge, in fitting up these 



282 GONDOLAS. THE RlALTO. 

vessels. At night, they carry lanterns attached to 
the prow and stern, and the effect of these lights, 
scudding along in all directions, while the vessels that 
carry them are invisible, is very pleasing. 

There are only eight horses in Venice ; four are of 
brass, over the gate of the cathedral ; and the other 
four are alive in Lord Byron's stable. The little 
island of Lido affords room for a short canter. The 
Venetian women are superb ; — there is something, 
peculiarly bewitching in their air and gait : but, I 
believe, they are but little changed since the time of 
Iago, who tells us, 

" In Venice they do let Heaven see the pranks 
" They dare not shew their husbands." 

Walked upon the Rialto ;— if no more were included 
under this name, than the single arch across the 
canal, the congregation of merchants before whom 
Anthonio used to rate Shylock must have been a 
small one, and Pierre could not well have chosen a 
worse place for " his evening walk of meditation. " 

The fact is, however, that the little island which 
formed the cradle of Venice, where the first church 
was built by the fugitives from the persecution of 
Attila, was called Riva-alta, or Rialto. Here too 
was the Exchange where the merchants met. In 
process of time the bridge leading to this island was 
called the Rialto, and has at last become the sole 
proprietor of the name. 

In the evening to the opera. Venice is the land 



GOLD CHAIN MANUFACTURE. 283 

of late hours ; the scene in St. Mark's Place at 
midnight, is more gay and animated, than at any 
hour of the day ; and it is after the opera, that 
evening parties and conversazioni commence. The 
Gondoliers no longer sing the verses of Tasso ; but 
you are frequently regaled with beautiful music, from 
parties of dilettanti musicians. I ought to record, as 
an instance of the obliging civility of the Italians, 
that I met a serenading party in a Gondola to-night, 
singing very beautifully to their guitars, the songs of 
a favourite opera. Supposing they were professional 
people, and under the idea that I was to make them a 
recompense, I detained them half an hour ; and it was 
not till they explained their refusal of any remunera- 
tion, that I found it was a nobleman's family returning 
from an excursion to Padua. 

The cafes in the place of St. Mark are brilliantly 
lighted, and you might fancy when you see it for the 
first time, that it was a gala night of extraordinary 
occurrence. The shops under the arcades are very 
handsome, particularly those of jewellery. One of 
the principal manufactures is that of gold chain, 
which is brought to the greatest perfection. The 
price of the chain is in proportion to its diminutive- 
ness. I gave twenty francs for a small specimen, not 
more than an inch and a half long, of the ne plus ultra 
of this manufacture ; it is worked with the aid of 
microscopic glasses, and seems to be the absolute 
minimum of all that is little. 



284 ARMENIAN CONVENT. 

May 29. I was awakened from my dreams of 
poetry this morning by a sharp east wind from the 
Adriatic ; bringing with it, as usual, to me, cough 
and fever, attended with a most oppressive defluxion 
upon the lungs. What a miserable thing it is to 
depend upon the wind for the power to breathe ! — 
especially at Venice, where you are not allowed to 
take what physic you please, without the assistance 
of a physician. I sent a prescription to a druggist, 
and though the strongest ingredient in it was pare- 
goric elixir, the answer he returned was, that he might 
not sell so potent a potion without medical sanction. 

I thought of Romeo's apothecary ; but my friend 
was less compliant than his, for he persisted in his 
refusal ; and as I was equally resolute not to comply 
with his condition ; I must have gone without my 
draught, which perhaps would have been the best 
course of all, if my friend the Vice- Consul had not 
supplied me from the consular medicine chest. 

Passed the morning at the Armenian Convent ; — 
a very interesting establishment, where, as long as 
the present librarian, a man of great learning, very 
extensive knowledge of the world, and most amiable 
manners, continues in office, a few hours may be 
passed most agreeably. 

Went afterwards to the Piazza S. Maria Famosa 
to see the house of the " proud Priuli ;" which still 
belongs to the family of that name. The east wind 
continues with such biting severity, that I feel I can- 



LEAVE VENICE FOR MILAN. 285 

not stay here, and so, to-morrow — " I must away 
toward Padua." 

May 30th. Left Venice in the courier's boat, and 
arrived at Padua in the evening. The voyage is dull 
and uninteresting. The banks of the Brenta are just 
high enough to prevent your view of the country, 
without possessing any beauty in themselves, to render 
them interesting. 

I found the apothecaries at Padua more accom- 
modating than at Venice, and if I had been inclined 
to swallow poison, I should have met with no ob- 
struction. 

May 31st. Engaged with a vetturino for a place 
in his carriage to Milan. I should have, as usual, 
engaged a small carriage to myself, but the pleasure 
of this mode of travelling depends much upon the state 
of the weather, and the character of the scenery 
through which you pass. In the present case, the 
rain is pouring down in torrents ; and the plain of 
Lombardy offers no great promise of picturesque 
beauty ; so that I prefer studying life and manners, 
in the inside of a vetturino's coach. By the way, 
these vetturini are the greatest scoundrels upon earth ; 
excepting perhaps the jackals or finders*, who hunt 

* The Italian designation of the finder, is Sensale. He fleeces 
the Vetturino without mercy, and in some of the petty states, 
the latter is obliged to have recourse to Jiim, and not allowed 
to make his bargain for himself; — the Sensale being the agent 
of the Police, who must also have their share of the plunder. 



286 JOURNEY TO MILAN. 

down their prey for them. This is a regular pro- 
fession in all the towns of Italy, and a tribe of these 
fellows is constantly on the look-out for travellers, 
whom they cheat of course as much as they can ; — 
for their own profit consists of so much per cent, upon 
the bargain they make in behalf of their employers. 

My companions are a ci-devant captain of infantry, 
in the army of the kingdom of Italy ; who had served 
in Spain for many years, and who retired in disgust 
when his country was subjected to the government of 
Austria; and two Italian ladies of the negoziante 
class. We halted in the evening at Vicenza. The 
rain prevented my attempting to see any thing, but I 
console myself with hoping, that there was nothing 
to see. 

June 1st. Another day of rain. My military com- 
panion is a very intelligent man, and we have had 
much friendly discussion on all subjects, except poli- 
tics,— or I should rather say, except military topics. 
It is truly provoking, after the achievements of the 
English at Waterloo, that their countrymen should 
have to fight the battle over again, as one ever has to 
do, when the subject is canvassed, out of England. 

The truth in this, as in most cases, will be found 
to lie in the middle ; between the exaggerated pre- 
tensions of the English, who insist upon having gained 
a complete victory, and the ridiculous extravagancies 
of the French, who would wish to talk themselves and 
all the world into a belief, that if the Prussians had 



VERONA. 287 

not robbed them of their prey, they should have anni- 
hilated the English. A calm retrospect of the objects 
that the two leaders proposed to themselves will I 
think shew clearly how the question really stands be- 
tween the English and the French, without embar- 
rassing it with the Prussian co-operation. 

Napoleon's object was to sleep at Brussels ; — he 
pointed out the road to his soldiers with exultation — 
he triumphed by anticipation in the idea, that at last, 
he had got the English within his gripe; — "Ah! 
pour le coup je les tiens done, ces Anglais ;" — and so 
confident was he of success, that he had prepared 
printed proclamations, dated from the royal palace 
at Brussels. The Duke of Wellington's object was 
simply, to prevent him. 

This is all that the Duke of Wellington proposed 
to himself to do, and this is what he did do most 
completely and triumphantly, proprio marte. It is 
to the having repulsed the enemy, and defeated his 
object, that the claims of the English should be li- 
mited ;— and this is claim enough. Then come the 
Prussians, and convert this repulse, into a rout ; and 
now, those who ran away would fain hope, that be- 
tween the English and the Prussians — as in the old 
fable of the stools — the glory of the day may rest 
upon neither. 

The evening cleared up as we approached Verona, 
the environs of which are beautiful ; and the town 
itself has a gay and pleasing appearance. 



288 VERONA. 

The amphitheatre has suffered little from the lapse 
of centuries, and it serves as an explanatory key to 
the great Coliseum at Rome. I have observed here 
again, that the mind is more impressed with the 
grandeur of what it has seen, by a subsequent com- 
parison of its recollections with smaller objects of 
the same kind, than by the actual contemplation of the 
objects themselves. Thus, the amphitheatre of Ve- 
rona has made me more sensible of the prodigious scale 
of the Coliseum, than I was, when within the walls 
of the Coliseum itself. 

I went in the evening to the theatre ; but the house 
was dull, dark, and dirty ; and the audience seemed 
to come with any other object rather than to hear the 
play ; for, they talked amongst themselves, as loud 
as the actors on the stage. 

When there is no sympathy between the actor and 
the audience, nothing can be more tiresome than a 
play. The re-action is wanting, to give it spirit ; 
for when a play goes off well, it is, I believe, be- 
cause the audience bring at least one half the enter- 
tainment along with them. 

June 2nd. Halted to breakfast at Desenzano ; on 
the bank of the Lago di Gar da. On the island in 
the lake are the remains of Catullus 's villa. We 
were now passing over the scenes of Buonaparte's 
Italian campaigns, and my military companion was 
very eloquent in the praise of the ci-devant Emperor. 
It is truly surprising, to witness the enthusiasm of 



NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 289 

feeling which this man has excited in his favour 
amongst those who have served under him. My 
companion spoke of the effect of his appearance on 
the field of battle, in its influence upon the spirits of 
his army, as something supernatural. No man could 
ever act the hero better, when it suited his purpose ; 
and no man ever attained in greater perfection the 
art of gaining that ascendency over his followers, 
which constitutes the spell that strong minds hold 
over weak ones. 

He seems to have had a very happy knack in 
speaking as well as acting the sublime. The captain 
gave me two instances of this kind. At the battle 
of Lodi, there was a battery of the enemy, which 
was making dreadful havoc amongst the French 
ranks ; and repeated attempts had been made to 
storm it, in vain. An officer came to Buonaparte to 
represent to him the importance of making another 
effort to silence it ; when he put himself at the head 
of a party, exclaiming, Quelle se taise ! and carried 
it by storm. On another occasion, he was giving 
some impracticable orders, which were humbly re- 
presented to him to be impossible; when he burst 
out — Comment? ce mot n'est pas Franfais. The 
most remarkable feature in the character of this strange 
being, is his inconsistency ; displaying as he does at 
different times, the most opposite extremes of great 
and little, — magnificence and meanness. This incon- 
sistency, however, is sufficiently explained by his 



290 NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 

utter want of fixed principles of right and wrong. 
What can be expected from him, who laughs at 
religion, and does not even possess a sense of honour, 
to keep him steady in the path of greatness ! Selfish- 
ness seems to have been the foundation of his sys- 
tem, the only principle which he acknowledged ; and 
this will reconcile all the apparent inconsistencies 
of his conduct. Every thing was right to him, that 
conduced to his own interest, by any means however 
wrong ; and as his mind seems to have had the power 
of expanding with his situation, so it had an equal 
power of contracting again ; and he could at once 
descend from the elevation of his throne, to the 
pettiest considerations connected with his altered con- 
dition ; accommodating himself in a moment to all 
the variations of fortune. In a word, he was the 
Garrick of the great stage of the world, who could 
play the leading part in imperial Tragedy — carrying 
terror and pity into all bosoms — and re-appear in 
the part of Scrub in the after-piece, with equal truth 
and fidelity of representation. We might admire the 
equanimity of such a temperament, if we did not 
find it associated with such a selfish and exclusive 
attention to his own personal safety, as robs it of all 
claims to our applause. After all, he is a truly ex- 
traordinary being, — a wonderful creature, furnishing 
the most curious subject for examination, to those, 
who, abstractedly from all the national and political 
feelings of the present time, can consider him merely 



NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 291 

as a singular phenomenon, an anomalous variety, in 
the strange history of human nature. 

Whatever we may think of him in England, he is 
the great idol of adoration in this country. The 
people carry a little bronze image of him — like a 
Roman household God — in their waistcoat pockets, 
which they kiss with every mark of affection: and 
yet this very people helped to pull down the statues 
of the Emperor at his abdication. How is this to 
be explained, and what could have been the charms 
of Napoleon's dominion ? Is it the natural fickleness 
of mankind? or is it that the people were taught 
to believe, when Napoleon should be put down, a 
better order of things would be established; but 
finding now, that though he has lost every thing, they 
have gained nothing, a re-action has taken place in 
public opinion, and the sentiment in his favour is 
increased, by mixing up their own disappointment 
along with it. 

The Austrians rule Italy with a rod of iron ; or 
as the Italians say, they rule it as if they were to 
be turned out of possession to-morrow. The con- 
scription, the taxes, the rigid exclusion of English 
manufactures, are all continued ; and the manner in 
which their oppressors exercise their rule is as offen- 
sive to the Italians as its spirit. They are utterly 
without the suaviter in modo, which made the French 
individually popular, in spite of their oppressions ; 

U2 



'292 NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 

and the Italians always talk of the TeAewhi, as la 
brutta gente*. 

It is impossible not to sympathize with the Italians 
in their complaints ; but, the domestic jealousy of one 
another, that exists amongst the different States, will 
stand in the way of any general effort to throw off 
the foreign yoke, which galls them so severely ; to 
say nothing of that softness of character, approach- 
ing to imbecility, which seems to incapacitate them 
from sustaining the perils of such a struggle. Though 
there is much more firmness of tone in the character 
of the northern, than of the southern inhabitants of 
Italy, yet my companion inveighed with vehement 
bitterness against the apathy of his countrymen ; and 
his constant prayer was, that the Austrians might 
carry their tyranny so far, as to inflict daily a hun- 
dred blows of the bastinado upon every Italian ; ex- 
pressing his willingness to be the first to submit to 
this discipline. Upon my asking him what he meant, 

* The popular sentiment was strongly manifested, during 
the late visit of the Emperor of Austria to his Lombardo- Ve- 
netian dominions, The Emperor was at the opera at Venice* 
with Maria-Louisa the wife of Napoleon. The audience were 
clamorous in their applause, and so particular in directing it 
to the Ex-Empress, that, as the best way of appeasing the 
tumult, Maria-Louisa quitted the theatre. The audience how- 
ever rose with her, and accompanied her home, leaving ,the 
Emperor of Austria, 

" With a beggarly account of empty boxes ! " 



AUSTRIAN DOMINION. 293 

he explained, that he thought this, and nothing less 
than this, might rouse his countrymen to a general 
insurrection, to free Italy from the intolerable op- 
pression of their German masters. 

The spirit of the Austrian government was signally 
displayed, in conferring upon a German, the Arch- 
bishopric of Milan, the highest ecclesiastical prefer- 
ment in their Italian territory, and worth about 8,000/. 
per annum. 

We have had some taste of the rigour of their 
police, in the vexatious examination of our passports 
and baggage at every town through which we have 
passed. 

The captain replies to all my sallies of impatience, 
by a significant shrug, adding with a sort of sarcas- 
tic submission to his lot — Vcevictis! and then ex- 
claiming with an indefinable expression, 

" Exoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor I" 

We arrived late in the evening at Brescia. 

June 3rd. Off again at sun-rise. It perhaps may 
be reckoned among the advantages of travelling with 
a voiturier, that it soon accustoms you to rise at day- 
break without effort or fatigue. Nothing can be 
more uninteresting than the dull flat plain of Lom- 
bardy, where there is little to please any eye, but 
the eye of the agriculturist. The land indeed is as 
rich and fat as land can be, yielding four hay- 
harvests in the year. Besides, the whole plain is 
almost one continued vineyard, and the vine is not 



294 PLAIN OF LOMBARDY. 

here the little dwarfish plant, that it is in other places , 
but is trained to hang from tree to tree in rich fes- 
toons, as it is described by Virgil. 

The mulberry is the common tree of the soil, 
which is cultivated rather for the sake of the leaves 
than the fruit. These are stripped off, as soon as 
they arrive at maturity, to feed the silk-worms. This 
operation had just been performed, and the poor 
naked trees looked wofully out of fashion, at this 
season, when every scrub of a bramble is dressed 
out in a new suit of green livery ; but, nature soon 
provides another set of leaves, and the silk-worms 
get a second harvest. 

Our vetturino crawled along more sluggishly than 
usual, and we had nothing to interest us in the way 
of novelty, but occasional fields of rice, which were a 
new sight to me. 

Halted for the night at Caravaggio. 

June 4th. Vive le Roi ! — My female companions 
talked a great deal to-day of England, and of English 
manners. They made the same charge against us, 
which is made by all the world, of pride and hauteur. 
In the course of our route to-day, we saw a chariot at 
a distance advancing towards us. The ladies clapped 
their hands together and cried out, Eccolo ! Eccolo ! 
Inglesi! Inglesi ! I asked them how they knew 
at such a distance to what nation the carriage be- 
longed, when they laughingly pointed to the female 
domestic on the box. They cannot see the propriety 



MILAN. 295 

of the distance which is preserved between English 
masters and their domestics, — especially female do- 
mestics. The sight of a female, posted on the out- 
side of the vehicle shocked their notions of the 
deference and courtesy due to the sex — all considera- 
tions of rank out of the question — and was con- 
sidered by them as an unpardonable act of high- 
treason against the divine right of womanhood ; nor 
could I make them understand that the Abigail was 
probably better pleased to accompany her fellow 
servant on the box, than to be admitted inside, sub- 
ject to the constraint arising out of unequal association. 



296 



CHAPTER X. 

Milan — Lake of Conio — Lago Maggiore — Borro- 
mean Isles — Simplon Road— Goitres — Cretins — 
Clarens — Chillon — Inundation at Martigny — 
Mont St. Bernard — Lake of Geneva — Lausanne. 

1 HE approach to Milan is very grand ; as soon as 
you pass the gate, you enter a noble street, as broad 
as Piccadilly, with a wide trottoir on each side for 
foot passengers. All this is the work of the French. 

Established myself at the Albergo Imperiale ; 
where I have engaged to give nine francs per day, 
for my rooms, breakfast, and dinner. 

There is something disagreeable at first to Eng- 
lish feelings, in making a previous bargain for 
your entertainment at an inn ; but it is the only way of 
securing yourself from a greater evil — a final dispute. 
Those, to whom economy is an object, will find 
their advantage in this practice ; for if the inn-keeper 
is made to understand that you do not travel en grand 
Seigneur, as the great mass of English are supposed 
to do, he will moderate his demands to your own 
terms, rather than allow you to seek another inn. 
Amongst the minor mortifications of a limited purse, 
there are few more disagreeable, than the necessity 



MILAN. £97 

it imposes of attending to considerations, from which 
the rich man is exempt. What's to pay ? is the only 
question he need ask upon his travels, — and the answer 
to him is of small importance. 

June 5th. The Cathedral ; — a new cathedral, es- 
pecially if it be built of white marble, as is the case 
at Milan, is an ugly staring thing. In the inside 
there is a curious subterraneous chapel, in which the 
body of the Patron Saint, Charles of Borromeo, 
is deposited. He was one of the best and most 
amiable men of his time, and was committed quietly 
to the peace of the grave, amidst the respect and 
regret of his contemporaries. Some twenty years 
after his death however, his canonization took place ; 
upon which, his body was removed from its former 
tenement, and deposited instate in this splendid tomb ; 
where he is now exhibited as a spectacle to every 
curious stranger, at so much a head. This little 
chapel is all gold and silver, and the saint himself, 
arrayed in splendid robes, is laid in a case of trans- 
parent crystal. The face is visible — " grinning hor- 
ribly a ghastly smile," — as if he felt the bitter sar- 
casm conveyed by the contrast of his present situation 
with the motto of his life, — Humilitas ! 

Went to the Mint ; where you may see in a few 
minutes the whole process of coining, from the rough 
bar of silver, to the finished piece of money. 

The whole of the machinery is worked by water ; 
that part of it which stamps the impression, works 



298 MILAN. 

1 ,500 pieces in an hour. The last act of the process 
is verifying the coin. The balance used for this 
purpose is so delicately constructed, that the eight- 
hundredth part of a grain is sufficient to turn the 
scale. 

Napoleon certainly excelled all the world in money- 
making. His Italian coin is perfect — at once hand- 
some, commodious, and intelligible — and this last 
article is of great use to a stranger. In our own 
imitation of this coinage, how is a stranger to know 
that a shilling is a shilling, — except by inspiration ? 
In the Italian mint, the coin speaks for itself, and 
the value is inscribed on it in legible characters. 

They still continue to stamp the gold pieces of 
forty and twenty francs, and the silver pieces of five 
francs, with the image of Napoleon. 

The coinage of the smaller money is discontinued. 
June 6th. Drove to the Piazza Castello ; where 
there was a review of Austrian troops. The Ge- 
neral rode on the ground, attended by his staff most 
sumptuously caparisoned. The infantry were all 
padded out about the chest, and skrewed in about 
the waist ; according to the fashion that has sprung 
up, of improving nature's model. — " Heaven has 
given us one shape and we make ourselves another." 

From hence I went to the Amphitheatre of Napo- 
leon, capable of containing 40,000 persons ; the seats 
are cut out of the shelving bank, and are covered with 
living turf. Here were given, in imitation of the 



MILAN. 



299 



games of antiquity, splendid f&tes, with horse and 
chariot races, and naumachia. There are channels 
constructed, for filling the area of the Amphitheatre 
with water. 

A grand gala is now in preparation, to celebrate 
in this same place, the birth-day of the present Vice- 
Roy, an Archduke of Austria. At the further ex- 
tremity of the town, at the commencement of the 
Simplon route, is the unfinished arch of Triumph ; 
which was to have recorded the glory of Napoleon. 

The bas-relief ornaments were all finished, repre- 
senting his victories over the Austrians ; — the sur- 
render of General Mack, and his own triumphal 
entry into Milan ; and these things still remain, as if 
Austria thought the piece was not over, and that 
there might yet be 

" A rare fifth act to crown this huffing play ; ,r 

when these decorations would be called for. 

Leonardo da Vinci's famous picture of The hast 
Supper, in the refectory of the convent of the Ma- 
donna delle Grazie, is almost gone. The magnifi- 
cent copy of it in mosaic, which was undertaken 
under the auspices of Napoleon, is finished ; but it 
has been sent off to Vienna ! the excellencies of this 
great work however will still live in the admirable 
engraving of Morghen. 

Lounged in the evening to the public gardens, 
which form an agreeable promenade. Here is a the- 



300 MILAN. 

atre without a roof, open to the heavens, where an 
Italian tragedy was performed. 

One is so accustomed to stage lights, that a play by 
day-light strikes one as a monstrous performance. 
And indeed, all prejudice out of the question, day- 
light destroys entirely the illusion of the scene ; — at 
least as long as the scenes are made of painted canvass, 
and the actor's dresses of tags and tinsel. 

If the stage were indeed the marble palace that 
it is made to represent — as was probably the case in 
the ancient theatres if we may judge from the mar- 
ble of the proscenium that still remains —and if every 
other decoration " savoured equally of the reality" 
— the light of day and of truth might be safely ad- 
mitted. 

The play was dreadfully dull, and the actors imi- 
tated nature most abominably. 

In the evening I went to the theatre of Marionettes, 
a very clever exhibition, where puppets of four feet 
high, moved about, and performed all the action of 
the scene with great spirit and propriety, while the 
voices were supplied by persons from behind the 
scene ; — so that of the two entertainments it would 
be fair to say, that in the one the puppets acted like 
men, and in the other the men acted like puppets. 

June 7th. Cold wet day. Italian gossips. Uni- 
versal outcry against the " paternal government 9i of 
Austria. By the way this cant phrase seems to be 
appropriated, as if in a spirit of mockery, to the 



MILAN. 301 

very worst governments in Europe; unless indeed it 
be taken from the old adage of "he who spareth the 
rod spoileth the child," which seems to be the lead- 
ing maxim of the paternal governments, in their 
conduct to their subject states. — Engaged a vetturino 
for twenty francs a day, to carry me to Lausanne, 
by any route I should choose, and to pay my board 
and lodging expenses on the road. 

June 8. Rose at day-break ;— but my vetturino 
shewed the caitiff so strongly at the very first step, by 
a breach of his agreement, that I was obliged to 
determine my contract with him at once* 

Breakfasted at a cafe adjoining my hotel. Some 
hours afterwards, in an opposite quarter of the town, 
I missed my purse, containing about seventy Na- 
poleons, which was all the money I had in the world. 
Remembering that I had taken it out at breakfast, I 
immediately set out on my return to the caf6 ; though 
with very little expectation of recovering it. — As I 
walked along I bethought me of the physiognomy of 
the waiter, and drew the most unfavourable conclu- 
sions from the knavish expression which I began to 
recollect in it ; and then I arranged the best mode of 
conducting my queries, with a view to arrive at the 
truth, in spite of the lies which I took it for granted 
I should have to encounter. Upon entering the cafe* 
however, before I had spoken a word, he advanced 
towards me, with my purse in his hand, saying— 
Ecco, Signore ! 



-302 LEAVE MILAN FOR LAUSANNE. 

I record this, as one of the many but perhaps the 
strongest instance that I have met with, of the 
honesty of the Italian people. This lad might have 
taken my purse without the possibility of detection, 
and almost without suspicion ; for, numbers of per- 
sons were then breakfasting in the room, and many 
others must have entered it during the time of my 
absence ; and the confusion and crowd of an Italian 
cafe would have made it the easiest thing in the 
world for any one to have taken up the purse with the 
newspaper, that I left with it on the table. 

Went in the evening to the theatre ; where Alfieri's 
tragedy of Mirra was performed. The subject is 
revolting; but Alfieri has managed it with great 
skill, and in the representation there is nothing to 
disgust. On the contrary, I have seldom seen a 
tragedy where the distress is more affecting. The 
actress, who played Mirra, did it to the life ; — her 
first entrance told the whole story of the play ; and 
the part is so managed, as to excite pity and sympathy 
for Mirra, in spite of the odious passion of which she 
is the victim. If terror and pity be the objects of 
tragedy, the part of Mirra is admirably contrived to 
excite both these feelings in the highest degree ; for 
while you shudder at the terrible workings and fearful 
energy of her passion ; the struggles of her own 
native innocence of mind, and the horror with which 
she regards herself, make the strongest appeal to your 
compassion. 



LAKE OF COMO. 303 

They manage their Theatres better, in one respect 
at least, than we do in England. The hour of com- 
mencement, instead of being the same all the year 
round, varies with the season, — and the curtain does 
not rise, till the sun has set. 

June 9th. Having accidentally encountered a 
voiturier, whose carriage and appointments are better 
than usual, I have engaged him to carry me, and me 
alone, whithersoever I will, for twenty francs a day ; 
which is to include the common expenses on the road. 
My first stage has been to Como ; and I have passed 
the day on the lake, enjoying all the pleasure that a 
fine landscape can give. What that pleasure is would 
perhaps be more difficult to describe, than the land- 
scape itself, differing so much as it does, in different 
people ; for, how much more will one person see in a 
landscape than another, and even the same person 
than himself, at different times ? He certainly made a 
notable discovery, who first laid it down, that beauty 
does not reside in things themselves, but in the eye 
that sees it ; and every eye sees a different beauty. 
I have heard a man argue, that there was nothing in 
nature equal to the scenery of Co vent- Garden ; Dr. 
Johnson used to say there was nothing like Fleet- 
street; and every man, I believe, thinks the finest 
prospect in the world, is that which commands a view 
over his own land. 

But he is little to be envied, who is dead to the 
enthusiasm of nature; whose heart and feelings are 



30^ . LAKE OF COMO. 

out of the reach of her influence, and who is insensible 
to the tranquil enjoyment, which is derived from the 
contemplation of such charming pictures as the lake 
of Como will present to him. 

The spot from which this noble lake is seen to 
most advantage, is from a point immediately oppo- 
site the Fiume di Latte, a romantic little waterfall, 
which forms a succession of miniature cascades, from 
a height of several hundred feet, amongst the vine- 
yards with which the side of the mountain is planted. 
There is a spot opposite to this waterfall from which 
you command a prospect of the whole scene, without 
the disadvantage of a bird's-eye view. You have 
the three branches of the lake under your eye at once. 
The principal one extends northward, in the direction 
of Chiavenna ; with the mountains of ValTellina, and 
the Julian Alps, for its more distant boundary. Full 
in front is the Monte Legnone ; which though not 
ranking, as Eustace ranks it, amongst the highest 
Alps, nor retaining its snows in summer, is yet, from 
its bold rugged form, and its insulated position, one of 
the grandest and most commanding of them. To the 
south you look upon the other two branches, leading 
to Lecco, and to Como. This branch of the lake, 
from Menagio to Como, is of a very different cha- 
racter from the northern branch ; and though it is 
very beautiful, and at once wild and highly cultivated 
— with its banks studded with villas and villages — yet 
it wants the grander features of the northern prospect. 



LAGO MAGGIORE. 305 

At the villa Pliniana, the well with its rustic masonry, 
is apparently in much the same state as in Pliny's 
time, whose descriptive epistle is engraven on a 
tablet in the wall. The lake abounds with fish. I 
came up with the boats of a party of fishermen, as 
they were hauling in their nets, in which was a fine 
trout of fourteen pounds. 

The inhabitants of the country about Como have a 
rage for seeing the world. They traverse all coun- 
tries, with pictures and barometers for sale, and when 
they have scraped together a little money, they return 
from their wanderings to pass the evening of their 
days, and lay their bones in their own country, — a 
desire that seems to be natural to all mankind, 
" dukes moriens reminiscitur Argos.'* 

The itinerant Italians who carry on this traffic in 
England will nine times in ten be found to come from 
Como. 

Wednesday 10th. Passed through Yarese, to La- 
veno ; where I embarked my carriage to pass over 
the Lago Maggiore to Baveno ; while I put myself 
into another boat to make a wider survey of the 
scenery of the lake. 

There is nothing in this, nor perhaps in any other 
lake, that can be put in competition with the view 
from that point of the lake of Como, which I have 
before alluded to ; but the Lago Maggiore is, I think, 
more interesting than the southern branch of the 

Como lake, because with the same soft features in the 

x 



306 BORROMEAN ISLES. 

bosom scenery, there is in the character of the hills 
immediately on its brink, a boldness and grandeur, 
which heighten the impression of the whole, by the 
powerful aid of contrast. 

Amongst this bosom scenery, if the expression may 
be allowed, are the Borromean Islands ; — Isola Bella, 
and Isola Madre ; — the magic creation of labour and 
taste. Originally barren rocks, they have been fur- 
nished with soil, and planted with groves of cedar, 
cypress, citron, and orange trees, and decorated 
with gardens, grottoes, and terraces. In the midst 
of this fairy land, which might serve as the model for 
a description of the island of Calypso, is the Palace, 
as it is called ; which is not the stately comfortless 
pile usually designated by that name ; but a delight- 
ful villa, combining elegance with comfort. I observ- 
ed here, what I have not seen elsewhere ; — the statues 
have a drapery of real gauze thrown about them, 
which does not in fact conceal any thing, though it 
seems to do so. The effect is not unpleasing ; and if 
it be the result of prudery, it is a much better expe- 
dient than a fig-leaf. 

I could have lingered at Baveno a month, during 
this delicious season ; and I was on the point of dis- 
missing my voiturier ; but, something is constantly 
whispering in my ear, to hasten to Lausanne, where 
I expect letters from England. How are we to ex- 
plain that presentiment of what is to come ; or of what 
has already happened at a distance from us, whether 



SIMPLON ROAD. 307 

of good or evil, — though chiefly I believe of the latter, 
- — which every body has felt more or less ? It may be 
doubted how much, or even whether any deference 
should be paid to these secret intimations. For my 
own part, I am not prepared to disregard them al- 
together. If it be a delusion, it is as old as Socrates, 
and may rank him amongst its victims. There is 
something strange and inexplicable in it ; but so there 
is in all the links of that mysterious chain of attraction 
and repulsion, affinity and hostility, sympathy and an- 
tipathy, by which all the parts of nature are united and 
separated. Second-sight, as it is called, by which, 
according to some, the fate of the absent has been 
often so unaccountably communicated, may be but 
one of the many phenomena of this mysterious system, 
of which we know so little. There may be nothing 
really more surprising in this, — though we are less able 
to explain it, — than in the common fact, of striking 
upon the cord of a violin, which produces a corre- 
sponding vibration in another that is in unison with it ; 
— unless indeed, we are prepared to decide that the 
human heart-strings are made of less susceptible stuff, 
than the strings of a fiddle. 

June 11th. Baveno is on the grand Simplon road, 
which I now entered upon for the first time. It is 
lined on both sides with short granite pillars, about 
the size of a common English mile-stone, placed in 
regular succession at very short intervals — scarcely 
more than six feet apart — which, on the edge of a 

X 2 



SOS SIMPLON ROAD. 

precipice, are also surmounted with a wooden rail, 
The scenery soon becomes interesting ; but it is not 
till you pass Domo d' Ossola, and begin to wind up 
the Val Vedro, that you are introduced into the heart 
and core of the Alpine recesses. 

Near Crevola, where you begin to ascend, there 
lies on one side of the road, a vast column of granite, 
wrought from a neighbouring quarry ; which was on 
its way to Milan to form a part of Napoleon's tri- 
umphal arch, when the news of his reverses arrested 
its progress. It is perhaps, in its present situation, a 
more striking monument of fallen greatness, than it 
would have been at Milan of prosperous ambition. 

In passing through the stupendous and sublime 
scenery of this part of the Alps, Napoleon will have 
no inconsiderable share in exciting your wonder ; es- 
pecially if you are a disciple of that sect, which sees 
nothing sublime or beautiful that is not founded on 
utility. 

For, while you gaze with astonishment at the mon- 
strous masses, which nature has here heaped one upon 
another, in every mode of shapeless desolation ; and 
feel that sensation of awe, which it is the effect of 
such scenery to produce, by impressing the mind with 
a vague but overwhelming idea of the power of the 
mighty Master of nature ; it is impossible not to be 
rilled with admiration of the man, who had the bold- 
ness to undertake, and the genius to accomplish, a 
complete triumph over such fearful obstacles. In this. 



SIMPLON ROAD. 309 

as in many other instances, he has far exceeded all 
former achievements. Hannibal, it is true, passed the 
Alps at the head of his army ; but Napoleon not only 
did this, but, as a lasting record of his contempt of all 
impediments, physical as well as moral, that stood in 
the way of the execution of his purpose, he has left 
this " royal road ;" by which every puny whipster 
may do the same, without the precaution even of 
dragging the wheel of his carriage. 

This great work does, I think, eclipse all the fabled 
exploits which Grcecia mendax, or Roma mendacior, 
have handed down to us. Xerxes's adventure with 
Mount Athos was nothing to it. Napoleon has burst 
through solid rocks, that would have defied Hannibal 
with all his vinegar ; he has abridged rivers — in a 
word — he has played the very devil. The rocks 
frown at you and seem, 

" To wonder how the Devil you got there ;" 

while they hang over your head, as if preparing every 
moment to come thundering down with a tremendous 
" rsslovfo xuXivSsto," to punish you for daring to in- 
vade their secret and solemn solitudes, and make 

* At once your murder and your monument." 

In fact, Napoleon has so catamaranned the foun- 
dations that more than one ecroulement has already 
taken place. It is remarkable that he never traversed 
this road himself. It was begun and finished in five 



310 SIMPLON ROAD. 

years; but it is to be feared, from the negligence 
evinced in repairing it, that the indolence or the po- 
licy of the present rulers may suffer it to fall into 
decay. 

Austria, it is said, does not view with the same ad- 
miration that a traveller does, the facility of ingress 
into Italy, which is afforded by this, and the Mont 
Cenis road, — the sister work of Napoleon. She 
would much rather increase*, than diminish the diffi- 
culty of access, from that quarter of Europe ; being 
quite content with her own approach through the 
Tyrol, by way of Trent and Verona. 

This is very natural, and in this spirit it is said, she 
has exercised her influence with Sardinia to prevent 
the farther completion of the road from Genoa to 
Leghorn, which had been begun by Napoleon. 

I lingered so long on the way, that darkness 
came upon us before I was aware, and I was obliged 
to halt at a wretched hovel at Isella. 

June 12th. I was glad to rise as soon as it was 
light, and escape from the filth and vermin of the cock- 
loft in which I had passed the night, to the fine fresh 
morning air of the mountains. 

* As an illustration of this I might notice the vexatious requi 
sition of an Austrian signature, to the passports of all strangers 
entering the Lombardo-Venetian territory, which has delayed 
or sent back so many travellers approaching from Switzerland ; 
who, in ignorance of this regulation, often omit to get their pass- 
ports countersigned by the Austrian Minister at Bern. 



S1MPL0N ROAD. 311 

Soon after leaving Isella, we passed the Swiss 
frontier, and after a long ascent, reached the village of 
the Simplon. This part of the Valais was incor- 
porated into the French empire, but has now returned 
to its ancient connexion with the Swiss confederacy. 
At the top of the hill is the unfinished hopital, which 
was intended for the residence of the Capuchin monks ; 
whose business and occupation it is to assist and pro- 
vide entertainment for travellers, and who are now 
stationed in a less convenient situation. I The new 
building is on a very large and handsome scale, but 
the progress of it has been arrested, like that of the 
granite column, by the downfall of Napoleon. There 
is now little hope of its ever being completed ; at 
least the poverty of the state, to which it at present 
belongs — the Valais — is confessedly unequal to such 
works. 

The zig-zag ascent and descent are so skilfully 
managed, that you may trot up and down, without 
difficulty or danger. The character of the scenery, 
on the Swiss side, is much less bold and grand than 
on the Italian. The Val Vedro contains every in- 
gredient of the sublime that can be found in natural 
scenery — Mountain — Rock — Precipice — Torrent — 
Water-fall — Forest — in all their wildest forms; — l 
but when you arrive at the summit of the Simplon, 
you are presented with a softer scene, and look down 
upon the verdant green valleys of Switzerland. The 
first impression of this land of liberty is very favour- 



312 SIMPLON ROAD. 

able. The little cottage inns, if I may judge from 
this of Bryg where I have concluded the journey of 
to-day, are neat even to elegance, and there is in 
every thing an attention to comfort and cleanliness, 
which will remind an Englishman of his own mother 
country. 

June 13th. Intensely hot. Pursued my course 
through the Yalais ; — but I must cease to " babble 
of green fields." As for natural scenery , even 
sketches convey but a faint idea; — and descriptive 
sketches are ten times worse. The poverty of lan- 
guage is never so apparent, as when you seek to 
represent by words the infinite varieties of nature. 

Descriptions, to be of any value, should be peculiar 
and appropriate ; but how general and indefinite are 
the terms which you must use, if you are obliged to 
paint in words; and how little is conveyed by the 
whole catalogue of phrases which the most fertile 
imagination can supply ! If, indeed, by mixing up 
these phrases like colours on a pallet, you could pro- 
duce the same variety of tints, it might be as easy to 
represent a landscape with the pen, as the pencil. All 
however that the pen can do, I believe, is to give the 
poetical part of the picture ; by which I mean that 
part of it which appeals to the eye of the imagination, 
in the associations which the mind connects with the 
contemplation of the scene described ; and in this, the 
pen may perhaps have the advantage, But, as to pre- 
senting a clear and intelligible picture of a com- 



GOITRES. 313 

plicated landscape by verbal description, I believe it 
to be impossible. The best, and most picturesque 
representations of this kind, are perhaps to be found 
in the writings of the inimitable author of Waverlei/ ; 
but, I doubt whether even his sketches ever present a 
distinct image to the mind of the reader. I do not 
deny that his charming descriptions of nature, in her 
loveliest and boldest aspects, afford the greatest 
pleasure in the perusal ; — all I contend for is, that 
the pleasure is of a vague and general character, and 
not derived from a clear perception of the particular 
features of the scene described. — Slept at Sion. 

June 14th. There is a great sameness in the 
views in the Vale of the Rhone. The road runs along 
the bank of the river the whole way ; both pursuing 
their course in nearly a straight line. 

The Cretins are sad disgusting objects. I was 
prepared to expect the goitre : — 

" Quis tumidum guttur miratur in Alpibus? — Juv. 

It would seem as if nature in these regions could not 
help breaking out into excrescence, as well in the 
animate, as in the inanimate part of her creation. 

This loathsome appendage has been attributed to 
many causes. It has been supposed, though without 
foundation, that it is peculiar to those valleys which 
run from east to west ; and that it is not found in 
those that run from north to south. A more general 
notion has been, that it arises from the qualities of the 



314 CRETINS. 

water, which is here little more than melted snow. 
But, the more probable supposition is, that it is the 
consequence of breathing the damp foggy air which is 
condensed in valleys, situated between the ranges of 
high mountains ; — for the same disease is found in 
mountainous regions where no snow exists. 

This is the suggestion of Marsden, who, in his 
History of Sumatra describes a similar disease in 
the hilly districts of that country ; where the valleys 
are exposed to the caboot or thick fog, to the in- 
fluence of which cold vapour, he very rationally 
attributes the tumours in the throats of the inha- 
bitants. 

Cretinage seems also to be peculiar to mountainous 
regions, though the cause and connexion is, in this 
case, still more inexplicable. It is found in the 
Pyrenees ; and also, according to Sir G. Staunton, in 
the mountainous parts of China ; and, in these cases, 
there is no common similarity of situation or climate, 
to indicate a common cause, — except the single cir- 
cumstance of hilliness. 

It is well for these poor helpless creatures, that the 
superstition of the country causes them to be regarded 
with more than common affection, as the peculiar 
favourites of Heaven ; for, being incapable of criminal 
intention, they are considered as exempt from the 
obligations of moral responsibility, and as privileged 
exceptions from the common lot of mankind, who are 
doomed to be born in sin. 



THE PISSE-VACHE. 315 

But Switzerland is not the only paradise of fools *. 
In Egypt an idiot is held in still higher estimation, and 
even worshipped as a saint : — 

" If ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise." 

I have been much struck to-day with the neatness 
and personal beauty of the female peasantry, dressed 
in their Sunday costume. They still deserve the 
praises which St. Preux bestows upon them in his 
letter to Julie, describing the Haut-Valais, and they 
still retain " fours petites coiffures fioires, et fo reste de 
four qjustement, qui ne manque ni de simplicite, ni 
a" 'elegance." 

After leaving Martigny, I stopped to examine the 
pisse-vache ; a cascade, of which Coxe says, that " he 
had seen higher waterfalls, but none more beautiful." 
Since his time — forty years ago — its beauties have 
been diminished by the operations of a miller ; who, 
having built a mill under the fall, found it convenient 
to break away much of the projecting rock, to pre- 
vent the dispersion of the stream. t The mill exists 
no longer ; the mischief remains ; but it is still a 

* Sir Robert Wilson, in his Expedition to Egypt says, " In 
Egypt a fool is worshipped as a saint, and at Cairo they have 
many particular privileges ; but the most singular is the su- 
perstition which favours them so as to make their children 
considered the peculiar favourites of Heaven ; therefore, in the 
public streets the most virtuous women have no scruples to 
them, and passengers, instead of disturbing, pray over their 
union. A woman so with child is highly esteemed amongst her 
own sex." 



316 CLARENS. 

beautiful waterfall. Situated as it is by the roadside, 
and therefore accessible without any trouble, it is 
perhaps for that very reason less valued and less visited. 
For, there is a stimulant in difficulties to be over- 
come ; and indeed it is certain, that retirement of 
situation would give an additional charm to the beau- 
ties of the pisse-uache. Arrived early in the evening 
at Bex, where there is one of the very best inns in the 
world, and truly characteristic of the neat and elegant 
simplicity of Switzerland. 

In Italy all the domestics of an inn are men, who 
perform the offices of waiters and chambermaids ; 
here it is directly the reverse ; and while attended by 
the Swiss Hebes of Bex, you may feel the force of 
St. Preux's remark ; — " avec la figure des Valaisanes, 
des servantes memes rendroient leurs services embar- 
rassants." 

June loth. At Villeneuve I came in full view of 
the lake of Geneva. From Villeneuve to Yevay 
the road is beautiful, and every step of it passes 
through the fairy land of poetry and romance. The 
" snow-white battlement" of Chillon — the " sejour 
charmant" of Clarens — and " Lake Leman with its 
crystal face," beautiful as they are in reality, speak 
to us with more than the dumb voice of nature, 
through the glowing periods of Rousseau, and the 
immortal verse of Byron. 

At Clarens, the shrubberies, and walks, and the 
bosquets, so minutely described in Rousseau, exist no 



LAUSANNE. 



317 



longer ; they have long since given way to plantatioas 
of potatoes, corn, &c. ; for, as my honest host at 
Vevay observed, in allusion to the Nouvelle H£loise ; 
— " Romances are good things, but bread is better.'' 

From Vevay to Lausanne you pass through one 
continued vineyard all the way. The landscape is 
very pleasing, but it scarcely deserves the raptures 
of St. Preux ; who, on his return from his tour round 
the world with Lord Anson to his native Pays de 
Vaud, describes it as " ce pay sage unique — le plus 
beau dont Vceil humain fut jamais frappe, ce sejour 
charmant auquel je if amis rien trouve d'egal dans le 
tour du monde." 

In arriving at Lausanne, I drove immediately to 
the house of M. de Seigneux, to whom I had been 
recommended, who receives strangers into his house 
en pe?ision. My first inquiry was for my letters ; — 
which quieted all my anxieties. Those only who 
have experienced them, can form an idea of the 
feelings with which a traveller retires to his own 
room, to enjoy alone and at leisure, the luxury of 
long-expected letters from home. 

June 17th. Paid a visit to the house in which 
Gibbon resided, which is within a few doors of us. 
Paced his terrace, and explored the summer-house, 
of which he speaks in relating, with so much interest- 
ing detail, the conclusion of his historical labours : — 
" It was on the day, or rather night of the 27th of 
June 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve. 



318 INUNDATION AT MARTIGNY. 

that I wrote the last lines of the last page, in a summer- 
house, in my garden. After laying down my pen, I 
took several turns in a bercean, or covered walk of 
acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, 
the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, 
the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was 
reflected from the waves, and all nature was silent." 
Gibbon's library still remains, but it is buried and lost 
to the world. It is the property of Mr. Beckford, 
and lies locked up in an uninhabited house at Lausanne. 
June 18th. Went to Martigny ;— to witness the 
dreadful effects of the late inundation. The cause of 
this calamity was as follows. Some months ago a 
glacier had fallen down in the valley of B eigne, 
choking up the course of a small river, and forming 
the head of what in time became a very extensive 
lake. The inhabitants, fearing that as the warm 
weather advanced this dam might thaw and give way, 
had cut a gallery through the ice to let off the water ; 
by which, if the dam had remained firm a few days 
longer, the whole lake would have been emptied 
without causing any damage. But, on Tuesday the 
16th the head of the lake gave way, — and down 
came the waters with a prodigious rush, sweeping all 
before them. 



lapides adesos, 



Stirpesque raptas, et pecus, et domos 
Volventis una ; 

If it had happened in the night, all Martigny 



INUNDATION AT MARTIGNY. 319 

must have perished. Four hundred houses were 
washed away in a moment, as you knock down a 
building of cards. The pt>or host of the Swan inn, 
who presided at the table d'h6te where I dined on 
Sunday the 14th, was on Tuesday swallowed up in 
an instant, in his own garden ; — and away went 
stables, carriages and horses, in all directions. Per- 
haps it was my good genius that whispered me so 
constantly, to hasten to Lausanne ; and who pre- 
vented my halting at Marti gny, as I had once thought 
of doing, in order to go from thence to Chamouny. If 
it were, I fear I am not so grateful to him as I ought 
to be ; for I would willingly have been a spectator of 
this dreadful visitation, even at the risk of being its 
victim. A poor painter was in the valley of Bagne, 
sketching this lake, at the time the dam gave way, and 
his escape was little less than a miracle. He has made 
a drawing of the perils that surrounded him. If he 
were a man of talent, such a scene ought to furnish 
him with materials for a picture of the Deluge, which 
has probably never been painted from nature. The 
scene at Martigny beggars description ; — ruin and 
havoc are every where, i Water seems to be a more 
dreadful agent even than fire, in the work of destruc- 
tion. The operation of fire is at least gradual, and 
affords some chance of escape ; but water is a radical 
destroyer, and jumps at once to the conclusion. A 
single fact will be sufficient to convey an idea of the 
rapidity with which the work of demolition was 



320 MONT ST. BERNARD. 

effected ; — the water travelled at the rate of twenty 
miles an hour. 

The loss of lives is great, and the loss of property 
still greater. Those who have escaped with life — 
and only life — are perhaps most to be pitied. They 
have not only lost their all; but the very ground 
upon which their houses and crops stood, is a desert, 
covered with a coat of gravel and rubbish, and ren- 
dered utterly unfit for future cultivation. The despair 
of the poor creatures is very affecting, they rub their 
eyes — like the King in the Fairy Tale when he no 
longer saw Aladdin's Palace — as if they doubted the 
evidence of their senses. 

What a passing world this is ! and how foolish it is 
to fret and worry ourselves about the petty vexations 
of such a transient existence; — at least such is the 
lesson which the contemplation of a scene like that of 
Marti gny preaches, with more than the eloquence of 
words. 

20th. Excursion to Mont St. Bernard. The con- 
vent is situated about 8,000 feet above the level of 
the sea ; and is the highest habitable spot in Europe. 
The approach to it, for the last hour of the ascent, is 
steep and difficult. The convent is not seen till you 
arrive within a few hundred yards of it. It breaks 
upon the view all at once, at a turn in the rock. 
Upon a projecting crag near it, stood one of the cele- 
brated dogs, baying at our advance, as if to give 
notice of strangers. These dogs are of large size, 



CONVENT OF ST. BERNARD. 321 

particularly high upon the legs, and generally of a 
milk-white, or of a tabby colour. They are most 
extraordinary creatures, — if all the stories the monks 
tell you of them are true. They are used for the 
purpose of searching for travellers, who may be buried 
in the snow ; and many persons are rescued annually 
from death by their means. During the last winter, 
a traveller arrived at the convent in the midst of a 
snow storm, having been compelled to leave his wife, 
who was unable to proceed further, at about a 
quarter of a mile's distance. A party of the Monks 
immediately set out to her assistance, and found her 
completely buried under the snow. The sagacity of 
the dogs alone was the cause of her deliverance, for 
there was no visible trace ; and it is difficult to under- 
stand how the scent can be conveyed through a deep 
covering of snow. 

It is stated that the Monks themselves, when out 
upon search for travellers, have frequently owed their 
preservation to their dogs, in a manner, — which would 
seem to shew that the dogs are endued with a presen- 
timent of danger. 

Many stories of this kind have been told, and I 
was anxious to ascertain their truth. The monks 
stated two or three cases, where the dogs had actu- 
ally prevented them from returning to the convent by 
their accustomed route ; when, it afterwards turned 
out, that if they had not followed the guidance of 
their dog in his deviation, they would have been 

Y 



322 CONVENT OF ST. BERNARD. 

overwhelmed by an avalanche. Whether the dog- 
may be endued with an intuitive foreboding of danger 
—or whether he may have the faculty of detecting 
symptoms not perceptible to our duller senses— must 
be determined by philosophers. Be this as it may, 
— even the dogs are sometimes deceived, and with 
their masters are overwhelmed in the avalanches that 
are frequently falling in the spring of the year. About 
eighteen months ago, two of the domestics of the 
convent, with two or three dogs, and a party of 
travellers who had been waiting with the courier 
from Italy, were lost in an avalanche. The bodies 
of these unfortunate persons may now be seen in 
the Charnel-house of the Convent of St. Bernard ; 
where they are preserved, in order that there may 
be chance of their being identified by their friends. 
The coldness of the climate tends to retard putrefac- 
tion ; but at this time, no feature is distinguishable. 

Buonaparte crossed this mountain with 60,000 
men, with whom he afterwards fought the battle of 
Marengo. He halted for two hours at the convent 
with a few of his staff, and took some refreshment ; 
but forbad the soldiers to enter or disturb the retreat 
of the Monks. I saw the spot where his life was 
saved by his guide. Buonaparte passed on without 
noticing the obligation at the time ; but upon his 
return from the victory of Marengo, he sent for the 
man, and presented him a purse of sixty Napoleons. 
The guide still lives and is called Buonaparte. 



CONVENT OF ST. BERNARD. 323 

21st. We left the convent deeply impressed with 
the hospitable and kind manners of the superior and 
his brethren. The support of the establishment is 
greatly dependant on charitable contributions ; but 
it has lately suffered considerable loss, by the 
swindling device of some impostors, who — assuming 
the garb of the missionaries which the convent is in 
the habit of sending annually round the country to 
solicit support — contrived to levy very extensive 
contributions. 

In descending the hill, I looked into a sort of 
sheep-cot, about two miles below the convent. Here 
lay the skeleton of a man, in the garb in which he 
was originally deposited. The hat still remained on 
the skull, and his great coat lay spread beneath his 
bones. 

June 24th. In my way back to Lausanne, I 
halted at Vevay, took a boat with three watermen, 
and crossed the lake to Meillerie ; but I sought in 
vain for the secluded spot so romantically described 
by Rousseau, where St. Preux is described as having 
led Madame de Wolmar, after their escape from the 
storm. 

Rousseau's description however of the view from 
the lake is as accurate as possible ; and I was now 
in the track of St. Preux — 

Nous avancames en pleine eau ; je dirigeai telle- 
ment au milieu du lac que nous nous trouvames bientot 
a plus d'une lieue du rivage. La, j'expliquais a Julie 

Y 2 



324* LAUSANNE. 

toutes les parties du superbe horizon qui nous entouroit. 
Je lui montrois de loin les embouchures du Rhdne, 
dont 1'imp^tuex cours s'arrete tout-a-coup au bout 
d'un quart de lieue, et semble craindre de souiller de 
ses eaux bourbeuses le crystal azure du lac. Je 
lui faisois observer les redans des montagnes, dont 
les angles correspondants et parall&es forment, dans 
lespace qui les separe, un lit digne du fleuve qui le 
remplit. En l'6cartant de nos cdtes, j'aimois a lui 
faire admirer les riches et charmantes rives du Pays 
de Vaud, ou la quantity des villes, l'innombrable 
foule du peuple, les coteaux verdoyants et pares de 
toutes parts, forment un tableau ravissant ; ou la terre 
partout cultiv^e & partout feconde, offre au laboureur, 
au patre, au vigneron, le fruit assur6 de leurs 
peines, que ne devore point Pavide publicain. Puis, 
lui montrant le Chablais sur la cdte opposed, (pays 
non moins favorise de la nature, et qui n'offre pour- 
tant qu'un spectacle de misere) je lui faisois sensible- 
ment distinguer les differents efFets des deux gou- 
vernements, pour la richesse, le nombre, et le bonheur 
des hommes. C'est ainsi, lui disois-je, que la terre 
ouvre son sein fertile, et prodigue ses tremors aux 
heureux peuples qui la cultivent pour eux-m&mes. 

The contrast between the coast of Chablais, and 
that of the Pays de Vaud, still remains in full force ; 
and, by way of commentary upon the text of Rous- 
seau, I might cite the decrees and regulations stuck 
up in all the inns of Savoy, since the late changes ; 
where, among other arbitrary articles, there is one 



LAUSANNE. 325 

which strictly forbids any person to be seen in the 
streets after ten at night ; and the other prohibits all 
assemblies for dancing in public. Private balls in 
private families are graciously allowed, provided 
however, that it be done, " sans rumeur et avec 
decence" Conversing with an inhabitant of the 
country, I asked him whether the people were con- 
tented and happy under the government of Sardinia ; 
" Oh yes," said he, " we are as happy as fish in a 
frying pan." 

June 26th to August 15th. A life of idleness. 
M. de Seigneux's establishment combines every thing 
that can make a guest comfortable. Monsieur S. 
is a gentleman, in the whole extent of that term ; 
and Madame has every quality that a guest would 
most desire in the mistress of such an establishment. 
Amongst all her attractions, there is perhaps none 
more remarkable, than that active well-informed 
common sense, which is awake at all times and on all 
subjects. This is the most companionable of all qua- 
lities ; especially when, as in this case, it is joined 
with great good-nature, and unmixed with a single 
grain of affectation. The house opens into a garden, 
and on this side of it, we are completely in the coun- 
try ; looking upon a fine expanse of water, backed 
by the hills of Savoy, with a rich fore-ground of 
meadows and vineyards descending to the lake, which 
is about a mile distant from us. By opening the 
street-door we are in the town, and in the best part 



326 LAUSANNE. 

of it. If a man wish to be alone, his own room is 
his castle ; if he wish to mix with society, he will 
find the best company of Lausanne in M. de Seig- 
neux's parlour. Perhaps society is never so free and 
unconstrained as in an establishment of this kind ; — 
there can be no lurking mistrust in the mind of either 
host or guest, to poison the pleasure of their asso- 
ciation. This assurance of welcome is well worth 
buying, at any price ; and, if either party be dis- 
satisfied, the account is demanded or presented,— 
and there is an end of the matter. 

Sterne says, if he were in a condition to stipulate 
with death, he should wish to encounter him at an 
inn ; — but perhaps Sterne had never lived in such a 
pension as this ; which is the very place for a man to 
live or die, in the most quiet and comfortable manner. 

The Pays de Vaud, of which Lausanne is the 
capital, was for two centuries and a half under the 
dominion of Bern, if such a term can be applied to 
so mild a system of government. For, during the 
whole of this period, it would appear that no tax 
whatever was levied by the sovereign state, upon 
the dependant province. 

Bern, in possessing itself of the Pays de Vaud, 
took possession also of the estates, which the Dukes 
of Savoy and the Bishops of Lausanne held in this 
little territory ; and the produce of these was suffi- 
cient to defray the expenses of the administration of 
the government. 



LAUSANNE, 



327 



Things were in this state, when the French re- 
volution broke out. Switzerland was too near not 
to catch the infection ; and the contest between the 
have-somethings and the have-nothings — the two great 
parties into which Sancho divides mankind — ended, 
as usual in such contests, in a complete revolution 
of the government ; which had hitherto been con- 
fined to the aristocracy, but which was now vested in 
a Landmann, and a representative council, chosen by 
the people at large. 

But, it perhaps may be doubted, whether the Pays 
de Vaud have not lost more than she has gained by 
this revolution. She has, it is true, thrown off the 
yoke of Bern; she has gained the rank of an in- 
dependent state ; and she has obtained a free con- 
stitution; but, the public property, which used to 
defray the expenses of the state, has been somehow 
or other lost in the scramble ; and the acquirement 
of cantonal independence has been saddled with the 
imposition of taxes, which may lead the people to 
doubt, whether their old robes did not sit easier than 
their new. 

Much attention is paid in this, as in the other 
republics of Switzerland, to repress the growth of 
luxury ; and to check by the interference of the 
police all fashionable innovations, which may seem 
to threaten the corruption of the simplicity of re- 
publican manners. 

An English gentleman lately gave a private ball, 



328 LAUSANNE. 

at which the ladies of course continued dancing, long 
after the hours prescribed by the plebeian laws of 
Lausanne. The police made some attempts to fine 
all the persons concerned ; but finding it difficult to 
establish the proof, they contented themselves with 
imposing the usual fine Upon the master of the house. 
He refused to pay it ; and the issue of this question 
was expected with some interest, when it was set at 
rest by some friend of peace, who, as it would ap- 
pear, secretly paid the penalty on behalf of the de- 
fendant. He was however so indignant, at being 
supposed to have complied with a demand which 
he considered unjust, that he offered a reward, by 
public advertisement in the Gazette of Lausanne, 
for the discovery of the person who had thus in- 
terfered. 

The religion of Lausanne is Calvinistic; — but 
though we are so near the head-quarters of " Brother 
Jack" — there are no symptoms of that mortifying 
and ascetic spirit, which so often distinguishes the 
followers of Calvin. 

To instance, for example, the observance of Sun- 
day. Every body goes to church ; and so sacred is 
the period considered which is consecrated to public 
worship, that it would be an offence of which the 
police would take cognizance, to disturb the streets, 
even by driving your carriage through the town, 
during the time of divine service. 

But, the offices of worship at an end, the leisure 



LAUSANNE. 329 

hours of the day, are devoted to rational recreations ; 
— and if Sunday be distinguished at all, it is by a 
more than ordinary cheerfulness and gaiety. Music 
and the common domestic amusements proceed as 
usual, without any apprehensions that the recording 
angel is noting these things down as abominations. 
Sunday, in short, is kept without any of that gloomy 
formality, which seems to be thought by some, es- 
sential to piety ; — it is regarded rather as a feast than 
a fast, — being the day, dedicated to the preaching of 
that gospel, which brought " glad tidings of great 
joy to all people." 

The difficulty in this, as in other cases, is to pre- 
serve a just medium ; to remember the purposes for 
which the Sabbath was instituted and " made holy," 
without falling into the sour severities which were 
first introduced by the Puritans, — a sect that seems 
to have borne some affinity to the Pharisees of old, 
who reproached even the Saviour of the world, with 
being " a Glutton and a Wine-bibber." 



330 



CHAPTER XL 

Tour of Switzerland — Bern — Swiss Constitution— 
hake of Thun — Lauterbrunn — Grindelwald — 
Brienz — Giesbach — Lucerne — Schwytz — Valley of 
Goldau— Falls of the Rhine — Zurich — Zug — ■ 
Rigi — Return to Lausanne. 

August 15th. 1 HE tour of Switzerland might 
well furnish occupation for a whole summer ; but, 
if the object of the traveller be confined to the pic- 
turesque, a fortnight will perhaps suffice to survey 
the finest features of this interesting country, and 
skim the cream of the landscape. With this limited 
object in view, I left Lausanne, with my friend D. in 
a one-horse Char, for which we agreed to pay 13| 
francs per day ; this was to include the keep of the 
driver and his horse on the road, and indeed all the 
current expenses of the equipage, except the bonne- 
main to the driver ; which should always be contingent, 
and made to depend upon his good-conduct. 

There is nothing between Lausanne and Payerne, 
our first day's journey, to excite observation. 

16th. This day's drive brought us to Bern, the 
environs of which have an air of magnificence, that 
announces the approach to a capital. The situation 



BERN. 381 

of Bern is very striking. It is built upon a bold 
eminence, at the foot of which runs the Aar — clear 
and rapid — and in the distance, is a bold range of 
the Alps, covered with eternal snows. The town is 
well-built, of handsome stone, but the arcades on 
each side of the street, with their projecting but- 
tresses, give it a heavy and gloomy appearance. The 
leading feature of the place is cleanliness ; nothing 
can be neater than the streets, which are freshened by 
streams of water, that flow down the middle of them, 
in channels prepared for their reception. 

The Bear is the patron of Bern, and Bruin's 
portrait, as at the mansion of the worthy Laird of 
Bradwardine, meets you at every corner. A couple 
of these animals are entertained at the expense of the 
government, in a court in the town-ditch, where a 
fir-tree has been planted, that they may exercise 
themselves in climbing; and perhaps there is not 
much in Bern that will amuse a stranger more, than 
the gambols of this ponderous but active pair. 

The costume of the women — for the men seem to 
be laying aside that distinctive dress which used to 
characterize the different cantons — is any thing but 
graceful. Nothing can be more absurd than the 
cap of a Bernoise, for it answers no purpose of uti- 
lity, with a broad, starched, black lace frill standing 
up all round it, in which she flits about, as with the 
wings of a dragon-fly ; though this is a very bad 
comparison, for the rest of her dress gives her figure 



332 BERN. 

such a heavy Dutch look, that no wings could support 
it. The character of the Bernoise beauty might be 
given in the description which Henry the Eighth com- 
plainingly made of Anne of Cleves. With a delicacy 
of complexion that rivals the fair faces of England, 
there is a robustness almost amounting to clumsiness 
in their figures, which is irreconcileable with the 
graces. Madame Roland in characterizing the beauty 
of the women of Bern, says wittily enough; — " C'est 
le rosbifdes Anglais pour les estomacs a. toute epreuve." 

The ancient government of Bern, was an absolute 
aristocracy ;— but an aristocracy that furnished the 
singular example of exercising its power for the ad- 
vantage of its subjects. 

The French revolution, however, and its conse- 
quences, have deprived Bern of the rights of so- 
vereignty, which it formerly exercised over its de- 
pendant states, and reduced it to the condition of a 
single canton in the new federal compact ; in deter- 
mining the principles of which, there was much 
opposition between the aristocratic and democratic 
parties, which might have led to serious consequences, 
if the Swiss had not received a pretty strong hint, 
that if they could not settle their constitution amongst 
themselves, quietly and peaceably, the Allied Powers 
would be obliged to step in and do it for them. Such an 
intimation from without, had a wonderful effect in mo- 
derating the violence of party animosity within ; and in 
1814, the new constitution was concluded at Zurich. 



SWISS CONSTITUTION. 333 

The leading principle of this constitution was, the 
equalization of rights, not only amongst the different 
states composing the confederation, but also amongst 
the citizens of each state. The first step towards this, 
was the abolition of the name of subject in Switzer- 
land ; and accordingly, the same rights were given to 
the vassal districts, hitherto called subjects, as to the 
cantons to which they belonged. This principle was 
strongly opposed by the canton of Bern, which hoped 
to recover its ancient dominion over the Pays de 
Vaud and Argovie ; but it was fully established by 
the eighth article of the constitution ; — which also pro- 
vides that the Diet, in whom the government of the 
confederacy is vested, shall consist of nineteen de- 
puties, one from each canton, who shall vote ac- 
cording to their instructions, each canton having a 
voice by its deputy. 

By the seventh article, the equalization of rights 
amongst individuals was established, by the abolition 
of all exclusive privileges belonging to any particular 
class ; — and thus the triumph of liberty and equality, 
in the only intelligible meaning of those words, was 
complete. 

Since 1814, Geneva, Neufchatel, and the Valais, 
have been added to the confederacy ; and liberty is 
thus again re-established in her strong- hold ; and here 
at least, amidst storms and whirlwinds, and poverty 
and precipices, she may hope to maintain her sanc- 
tuary. 



334 SWISS CONSTITUTION. 

17th. The road from Bern to Thun passes through 
a beautiful country, which exhibits comfortable symp- 
toms of the general distribution of property. There 
are no splendid chateaus ; but the cottages are neat 
and elegant, and have all the appearance of plenty. 
Every village has its public walk ; and wherever there 
is a fine view or a shady tree, you will find a public 
walk, and a public bench ; where you may rest and 
enjoy yourself, without being afraid of an action of 
trespass. In short, you see every where a striking 
attention to the wants and comforts of the many. At 
Bern and Zurich, you may find equipages, and even 
liveries ; — but these last are held in general abomina- 
tion, throughout this land of equality, as base badges 
of servitude. Bern and Zurich, however, are large 
and wealthy towns, and it seems to be the natural 
effect of wealth and luxury, to destroy the true re- 
publican spirit. 

At Thun we sent our carriage to the right-about to 
give us the meeting at Zug ; while we made a boat- 
ing and riding detour, through the lakes and valleys 
that lie between Thun and that place ; and hiring a 
boat for eleven francs, we embarked for Neuhaus. 

The home scenery of the lake of Thun is picturesque 
and pleasing, and the range of the Oberland Alps in 
the distance, furnishes a grander background to the 
picture, than perhaps can be seen from any other lake 
in Switzerland. At Neuhaus, you find people with 
the waggons of the country, on the look-out for pas- 



LAKE OF THUN. 335 

sengers to Interlaken. Interlaken is a charming 
village, situated in a retired and romantic spot, com- 
bining all that painters love to delineate, and poets 
to describe. The view from the hill behind the 
village, commanding the lakes of Thun and Brienz, 
is superb. 

18th. Morning's drive to Lauterbrunn. Nothing 
can well be imagined more grand and sublime than 
the scenery of the valley of Lauterbrunn. Mountains 
rise on each side of you, ten thousand feet high, and 
a torrent roars at the feet of them, tearing its course 
through the valley, with a gurgling noise, that alone 
disturbs the solemn silence of this profound retreat. 
Occasionally, you encounter the summer cabin of a 
cow -herd, perched like an eagle's nest among the 
rocks ; — which seem inaccessible to any animal with- 
out wings, except the chamois. 

At last, the valley widens a little, and you arrive at 
the village of Lauterbrunn. Here you see the cas- 
cade of the Staubach, which comes down at one fall 
from a perpendicular rock 800 feet high ; — nearly 
twice the height of St. Paul's. This cascade would 
be the grandest in the world, if the body of water 
were greater ; but it is composed of so small a rivulet, 
that it is dispersed into thin spray before it reaches 
the ground. Instead, therefore, of the tremendous 
thunder of a raging cataract, the Staubach " droppeth 
like the gentle rain from heaven," and presents a pic- 
ture of enchanting softness and beauty, which I should 



336 FALL OP THE STAUBACH. 

be loth to exchange for any more sublime and terrible 
display of the power of nature. Madame Roland, in 
comparing the fall of the Staubach with the fall of the 
Rhine, has expressed in a beautiful illustration, the 
different impression which nature produces upon the 
imagination, as we contemplate her in her grand and 
fearful aspects, or in those soft and sunny spots, which, 
like an oasis in the desert, derive additional beauty 
from the horrors that surround them, in the sequester- 
ed seclusion of Lauterbrunn. " II semble, " says 
she " qu'une divinite imposante et paisible, ouvre une 
cataracte du ciel, et en fasse couler le Staubach de- 
vant soi pour s'annoncer aux mortels : — on dirait, de 
la chute du Rhin, que le maitre des enfers, voulant 
efFrayer la terre, la souleve avec le fleuve pour mani- 
fester son courroux." 

While we sat at the foot of the rock within reach 
of this refreshing shower-bath, admiring the rainbows 
produced by the morning sun in the falling spray, we 
were surprised by the sound of music, which seemed 
to be a duet of two hautboys ; and the echoes of the 
surrounding rocks produced the most pleasing effect. 
But here again, the evil genius of reality appeared to 
dispel the illusion ; — for the enchantment was at once 
dissolved, on discovering the cause of this music in the 
persons of two dirty old women. 

Their singing was from the throat, and the sounds 
resembled closely the tones of a flute. It is in the 
same manner that the famous Kureihole?i 9 or Ranz 



GRINDELWALD. 337 

des Vetches, the national air of the Swiss, is sung ; 
which does not consist of articulated sounds, nor is it 
accompanied by words ; but is a simple melody, 
formed by the same kind of guttural intonations. 

After lingering many hours in this romantic solitude, 
we retraced our steps for some way, and then turned 
to the right, into the valley of Grindelwald. The 
wooden cabins of the peasantry are in appearance 
just what Goldsmith describes, 

" Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms." 

In Grindelwald there is less of sublimity than in the 
valley of Lauterbrunn ; though the absence of wood, 
of which there is abundance in Lauterbrunn, gives a 
more wild and savage character to the scenery, 

19th. We had arrived at Grindelwald in a Char 
with two horses, with an intention of pursuing our 
course with the horses alone — there being no road for 
a carriage any farther — over the Scheidegg to Mey- 
ringen. But to avoid the unprofitable toil of climb- 
ing up one side of a hill, merely to descend the other, 
we determined to return to Interlaken, and proceed 
by water to Brienz. 

All that is worth seeing, may thus be seen, almost 
without quitting your carriage, or the high road. 

Grindelwald is surrounded by the mountains of 

Eiger, Mettenberg, and Wetterhorn; but neither of 

these will compare with the Jungfrau, and Picvierge, 

— so called, from its inaccessible height — which are 

seen from Lauterbrunn. It is between the Metten- 

z 



338 THE GLACIERS. 

berg and Wetterhorn that the glaciers descend. These 
stupendous masses of ice, while they command our as- 
tonishment, afford additional proofs of the wisdom and 
goodness of the Author of Nature. They have been 
well described " as performing the most important 
offices of utility, and while they serve as magazines 
which nature keeps in reserve, to replenish the rivers 
in Switzerland, the partial thaw, which takes place in 
summer, maintains the freshness and moisture neces- 
sary to promote the vegetation of those mountain pas- 
tures, which in this country constitute the chief wealth 
of the inhabitants. As the snow disappears, the flocks 
ascend the mountains, following the productions of the 
spring, which rise to life under their feet, from day to 
day, until the snows of autumn compel them to retire 
again into the valleys." The life of the Senn, or cow- 
keeper, is thus a life of constant migration. He sus- 
pends bells of different sizes to the necks of his cattle, 
in proportion to the merit of the cows, and it is said 
that these animals are so susceptible of feelings similar 
to our own, that if the leading cow fall into disgrace 
and be deprived of her honours, she exhibits all the 
mortification of wounded pride, and of angry jealousy, 
at the promotion of a rival ; — and the question of pre- 
cedence excites as much bitterness in the pastures of 
the Alps, as it can do in the drawing-room of the 
Thuilleries, or St. James's. 

The greatest affection is described as subsisting be- 
tween the Senn and his flock, which he is said to re- 



INTERLAKEN. 339 

gard as a part of his family ; and the hells of his cows 
are made to harmonize with the Ranz des Vaches, 
which is his constant strain. It is from the same icy 
mountains, that Switzerland derives its mineral waters, 
its hot springs, its crystal mines, and its cold baths ; 
which have been found so efficacious in the cure of 
various diseases. 

On our return to Interlaken, we had a dispute with 
the voiturier of whom we hired our horses. We had 
bargained for a journey of three days, intending to 
go to Meyringen ; but as we abandoned this plan, 
and brought him his horses back the second day, we 
thought ourselves entitled to some abatement. He 
argued that it was our own fault, that we had not 
proceeded to the end of our journey, — and stuck to his 
bond. As it was a rainy day, and we could not 
continue our route to Brienz immediately, we resolved 
to try the temper of Swiss law, and adjourned with 
the voiturier to the Bailli of the village. He ruled 
the case between us with ability and impartiality, 
and I was delighted at the quickness with which he 
seized the real gist of the question. The cause was 
soon over, and — what seldom, I believe happens— 
both parties retired perfectly satisfied with his arbi- 
tration. Having first brought us to an agreement 
as to the terms of our bargain ; — he decided, — that 
we were bound by our contract, and must pay the 
voiturier for three days ; but he also kept the voi- 
turier to his part of the contract, and ordered, that 

Z2 



340 LAKE OF BRIENZ. 

if we chose to stay at Interlaken, we might ride his 
horses as much as we pleased, till those three days 
were expired. This produced a compromise between 
the litigants ; and we wished the honest Bailli good 
morning, and a long possession of the judgment-seat 
of Interlaken. 

We paid six francs for a boat to carry us to Brienz. 
The upper part of the lake of Brienz is superior to any 
thing I have seen in Switzerland. It is a perfect 
picture, and completely satisfies the imagination ; — 
approaching nearer to the gaiety which is the character 
of the Italian lakes, as opposed to those of Switzerland, 
which have for the most part a sombre and gloomy 
air. The Italian lakes are, as Eustace says, ■' on the 
right side of the Alps," — in a land of wine and oil, 
instead of milk and water, — where you have vineyards, 
instead of pine forests, and the villages, instead of 
being buried in holes, and thrust into corners, as in 
% Switzerland, are hung out in the boldest and most 
prominent situations. Opposite to the village of 
Brienz, is the fall of the Giesbach ; which has been 
less celebrated, though it is I think beyond all com- 
parison the most magnificent cascade in Switzer- 
land, and second only to Terni. And even when 
compared with Terni, its inferiority is confined to the 
volume of water ; for perhaps there is more variety in 
the falls of the Giesbach, which comes foaming down 
with furious impetuosity, through magnificent forest 
scenery ; the effect of which is, to break the usual 



FALLS OF THE GIESBACH. 34*1 

uniformity of a cascade view. The view from the 
Alpine bridge, which has been constructed half way 
up the steep, commanding at once the look up, and 
the look down, is perhaps unrivalled. It is in a spot 
like this, that we feel the impossibility of conveying 
by words any idea of the sublime imagery of nature. 

At Brienz, a party of female choristers offered 
their services to enliven our evening, by singing their 
national airs. Many of these were delightfully simple 
and plaintive, and they " warbled their wood-notes 
wild" so sweetly, that perhaps science and instruction 
could have added nothing to improve the harmony. 

20th. We hired a couple of horses to cross the 
Brunig to Sarnen, the road being impassable for a 
carriage ; and for this day's journey we paid thirty- 
six francs ; for in Switzerland, they always charge 
you for their horses' journey back, as well as for the 
journey you perform. Sarnen is the capital of the 
little canton of Unterwalden. If, as it has been ob- 
jected, there is any natural connexion between the 
Roman Catholic religion and the doctrine of passive 
obedience, it would seem that the character of this 
religion is changed by the climate of Switzerland ; — 
and here, it loses even its intolerance. For the canton 
of Unterwalden was one of the first to assert and 
maintain the rights of liberty ; yet it was, and is, 
firmly attached to the church of Rome ; though this 
has not prevented it from extending the hand of good 
fellowship to the Protestant inhabitants of Upper- 



342 CANTONAL GOVERNMENTS. 

walden ; and these two cantons have long been 
incorporated together. They sit in the same council, 
administer the same laws, and intermarry with one 
another, without at all disturbing their political or 
domestic harmony. 

It is pleasant, amidst the wild and savage recesses 
of the Alps, to find a moral scene of such a character ; 
— where the bitterness of religious differences is sof- 
tened by the kindly feelings of human brotherhood ; 
and every sect enjoys a full and complete participation 
in all the privileges of society. 

The costume of the peasantry in this canton is 
grotesque, but not unpleasing. The women walk 
about in flat straw hats, which bear the same pro- 
portion to their figure, that the head of a large 
mushroom does to its stalk. 

21st. The government of a pure democracy may 
still be contemplated amongst some of the little can- 
tons of Switzerland ; where the people meet en masse 
in the plain, to legislate and choose their magistrates. 
Here too may be seen the singular spectacle of a 
government without taxes ; the government lands 
paying all the expenses of the state ; and this will 
not appear extraordinary, where we find that the 
salary of the Landmann, or chief officer of the state, 
is limited to eight pounds per annum. In this minia- 
ture shape, such a government may be conducted with 
moderation and justice; but the history of democracies 
has too fatally proved, that it is perhaps of all forms 



CANTONAL GOVERNMENTS. 343 

of government the worst, when tried upon a large 
scale. Cruelty and injustice may disgrace the best 
formed constitutions ; but it would seem that they 
must be the characteristics of democracies. The 
history of Athens, the seat of arts and sciences, the 
country of historians, poets, and philosophers, teaches 
us, in the banishment of Aristides, the condemnation 
of Socrates, and the death of Phocion, that the 
intellectual and moral character of a people affords no 
security against their abuse of power ; while the 
annals of the French Revolution will record in its true 
colours, the savage spirit of a democracy acting 
under the blind impulse of ignorance and vice. This 
detestable spirit is completely explained in the de- 
claration of a favourite demagogue of that day — 
" that true republicans ought not to bear even the 
aristocracy of virtue," — a sentiment which seems to be 
lineally descended from the Athenian, who employed 
Aristides to inscribe his own name on the shell that 
was to send him into exile. 

It is plain that these observations are not meant 
to apply to such mixed governments as have been 
founded on the representative system, — the effect of 
which is, to counteract the inherent vices of demo- 
cracy ; though it may well be doubted, whether this 
beneficial effect would not be completely neutralized, 
if the right of suffrage were made universal, with a new 
election every year. 

After a long conversation on Swiss politics with 



344 LAKE OF LUCERNE. — GERSAU. 

our worthy host at Sarnen, — who held an important 
office in the magistracy of the canton, and who 
delighted us at once- by his good humour, and the 
strong resemblance he bore to the gallant Fluellen, 
of Welsh memory, — we proceeded in a char to 
Alpnach, where we hired a boat to take us to Lu- 
cerne, and afterwards to Gersau, for fifteen francs. 
There was a good deal of wind, and the boatman 
hoisted a sail ; but this is a dangerous practice ; for 
the boats are flat-bottomed, and the men very bad 
sailors, so that you run the risk of being overturned 
by those puffs of wind, to which you are constantly 
exposed on the lakes of Switzerland, from the nature 
of the surrounding mountains and valleys. There is 
little in Lucerne to detain you, except the model of 
the four cantons by General PfifFer, which should not 
be omitted. 

The scenery of the lake in the neighbourhood of 
Lucerne is rather tame, but as you advance towards 
Gersau, it assumes a loftier character, and the view 
towards Altorf is full of rugged magnificence. 

The little republic of Gersau, consisting of a terri- 
tory of two leagues in length, and one in breadth, 
was incorporated into the canton of Schwytzin 1798. 
There is an anecdote told by a French traveller, to 
shew how completely, in so small a community, the 
conduct of every individual is under the eye of the 
public ; — upon entering the inn at this place, he found 
an advertisement posted up, prohibiting all persons 



SCHWYTZ. 345 

from playing at any kind of game, or drinking, with 
two citizens of the republic, specified by name ; and 
the reason assigned for this prohibition was, that one 
of them was addicted to drunkenness, and the other 
to choler. 

22nd. We proceeded up the lake, and disem- 
barked at Brunen ; from whence it is a short drive to 
Schwytz, — the cradle of Switzerland. The inha- 
bitants of this canton displayed the same enthusiastic 
courage at the battle of Montgarten, against the 
French, in 1799, which their ancestors had done on 
the same spot, against the Austrians, in 1315, in the 
memorable battle which established their liberty. 
The interval between these battles — nearly 500 years 
— was an interval of peace and prosperity ; but the 
havoc and devastation committed by the contending 
armies of Russians, Austrians, and French in 1799, 
reduced the poor Schwytzers to beggary and ruin. 
The town of Schwytz is situated in a charming green 
valley, backed by the sharp and rugged heights of 
the Mythen. The Cerf at Schwytz, is a perfect inn ; 
so delightfully comfortable, that I should have been 
well contented to remain there for some time ; if the 
time had permitted it. It is necessary to penetrate 
into the core of Switzerland, to recognise the traces 
of that honest simplicity of character, which has been 
considered as peculiar to the Swiss people. In those 
places which are situated on the great high roads, the 
influx of travellers has produced the usual work of 



3^6 ECROULEMENT OF THE ROSSBERG. 

demoralization ; and the only competition seems to be 
who shall cheat the traveller most. The female cap 
of this canton seems to be fashioned with still less 
attention to utility than that of Bern ; and is, in fact, 
nothing but a stiff frill of muslin, disposed uprightly 
on the top of the head, like the comb of a cock. 

In our route from Schwytz to Art, we passed over 
the valley of Goldau, the fatal scene of the terrible 
ecroulement of the Rossberg ; a mountain which in 
the year 1806, slipped from its foundations, literally 
fulfilling the emphatic description of the Psalmist, — 
" The mountains skipped like rams." — This over- 
whelming catastrophe swallowed up in a moment five 
of the most industrious villages in Switzerland 5 with 
some hundreds of their inhabitants, and a party of 
unfortunate travellers. The moving masses which 
came thundering down, are described as being a 
league in length, 1,000 feet in breadth, a and 200 feet 
high ; which in a few minutes converted this once 
cheerful and populous valley into a shapeless chaos 
of rocks and desolation. 

The weather was so bad when we arrived at Art, 
that we resolved to postpone our intended ascent 
of the Rigi till our return, and proceed at once to 
SchafFausen, the ultimate object of our tour. 

After a boisterous voyage along the lake from Art, 
we arrived at Zug, where we found our carriage; and 
as the rain prevented us from seeing any thing of that 
place, we pushed on to Thalwyl to sleep. 



FALLS OF THE RHINE. 347 

23rd. We proceeded as rapidly as possible, with- 
out making any halt at Zurich, in order to see the falls 
of the Rhine before sun-set. It had continued to 
rain during the whole day, but a short time before 
our Char stopped at the foot-path, which leads to the 
falls, the weather suddenly cleared, and we were 
fortunate enough to contemplate this splendid pros- 
pect lighted up by the rays of the setting sun. As 
the morning is the most favourable season for seeing 
the Staubach, so, from the difference of the aspect, 
the evening is the best period for looking at the falls 
of the Rhine. The impression of the first coup d'oeil 
perhaps disappoints expectation, and it seems to re- 
quire a longer survey, to take in the whole mag- 
nificence of the scene. The best point of view is, I 
think, from the room of an artist immediately opposite 
to it ; in which he has constructed a camera obscura, 
which transfers the whole scene with all its lights, and 
colours, and motion, upon the table of his apartment. 
One of the defects, which are incident to repre- 
sentations of cascades, is thus supplied, and the effect 
of this moving picture is very pleasing; the want of 
sound, however, is a defect, which seems irremediable, 
for, though in this instance you have the roaring of 
the real water-fall in your ears, you cannot, by any 
cheating of the senses, connect it with the mimic 
imagery of the picture. 

Twilight came upon us while we were yet gazing 
with undiminished admiration at the awful majesty of 



348 FALLS OF THE RHINE. 

the scene before us. I find that we have delayed our 
tour too long. The beginning of July is perhaps 
the best period for an excursion in Switzerland ; for 
it is very important to have the evening as long as 
possible. At present it is night at eight o'clock, and 
the thermometer, which was a fortnight ago at 85 in 
the shade, was this evening as low as 52. 

We found shelter for the night at a wretched inn at 
Iestetten. 

24th. There is nothing interesting in the country 
between SchafFausen and Zurich, and it is upon a road 
like this, that one is tempted to complain of the 
want of post horses in Switzerland. The Diet seem 
to consider, that the establishment of posting would 
be too great an encouragement of luxury; and ac- 
cordingly a traveller is doomed to the snail's pace of 
a voiturier's team, whether he will or no. 

It is impossible not to wish well to any regulations 
that have a tendency to promote and maintain un- 
corrupted the simple manners of the peasantry ; and, 
it is, I fear, a serious deduction from the advantages 
of good roads, and mail coaches, that, while they 
promote the diffusion of knowledge, they circulate 
the poison of immorality, and contaminate the simple 
manners of the country with the vices and licen- 
tiousness of the capital. Travellers have certainly 
done no good to Switzerland ; but perhaps she has 
more to fear from the mistaken policy of the Diet, 
in encouraging the growth of manufactures. 



SWISS MANUFACTURES. 349 

To say nothing of the absurdity of manufacturing 
at home, cottons and muslins, which she might pur- 
chase cheaper and better from England ; the profits 
of these establishments will be a poor compensation 
for the evil effects which they must produce upon the 
morals of the people. The only hope of duration 
that a democratical government can entertain, must 
be founded upon the moral qualities of the great body 
of its population. 

It would surely be happier for Switzerland, that 
her population was confined to the honest and hardy 
followers of pasturage and agriculture, than that 
she should, by the establishment of manufactures, 
breed up an excessive population in particular places, 
depending for support and subsistence upon the fluc- 
tuating prices of commerce, and infected with the 
vicious propensities which seem to be the necessary 
consequence of any system, that confines large num- 
bers of human beings together in sedentary employ- 
ments. 

The Swiss, and particularly the inhabitants of 
the neighbouring canton of Appenzell, have always 
been celebrated for their skill in mechanics. A re- 
markable instance of their mechanical genius was 
furnished by Ulrich Grubenman. This man, who was 
a common carpenter, was the inventor of that sort 
of wooden bridge, which is in German called hamg- 
werk. 

In consequence of the repeated washing away of 



350 ZURICH. 

the bridges at SchafFausen, a committee was appointed 
to consider of a plan for anew structure. Grubenman, 
in order to avoid the force of the stream, proposed 
to erect a bridge which should consist of a single 
arch. The idea of throwing an arch across a width 
of 300 feet, was treated with ridicule ; and the plan 
was about to be dismissed, as the project of a 
visionary ; when Grubenman, as the story runs, an- 
swered the objections by jumping with his whole 
weight upon the miniature model of his intended 
work, which bore him up triumphantly, and his plan 
was in the end adopted. 

Zurich is celebrated for the literary characters it 
has produced, and has been called the Athens of 
Switzerland. Gessner and Lavater are amongst the 
names of which they are most proud. 

The last fell by the bayonet of a French ruffian, 
when Zurich w T as taken by storm, during those ter- 
rible times which made the peaceful retirement of 
Switzerland the theatre of war and carnage ; and 
presented the awful spectacle of contending armies 
of French and Russians fighting hand to hand upon 
the Devil's Bridge. 

The public library is large and curious ; but a tra- 
veller has seldom time to do more than look at the 
outsides of books. They shew you an original manu- 
script of Quintilian, and a collection of original letters 
in Latin, from our Lady Jane Gray to Bullinguer. 
In the evening we proceeded to Zug, along the banks 



ZUC. 



351 



of the lake of Zurich, which are gay and cheerful, 
though entirely without any of the higher charac- 
teristics of the sublime and the beautiful. 

25th. The little canton of Zug, like Schwytz and 
many others, proves, that there is no necessary hos- 
tility between the Catholic Religion, and liberal prin- 
ciples of government. We embarked for Art at day- 
break, in order to ascend the Rigi. The lake of 
Zug is famous for the variety and abundance of its 
fish. The season of carp fishing is drawing to a close. 
I am told they are sometimes caught of the prodigious 
weight of ninety pounds ; and frequently of twenty 
pounds' weight. But the fish in greatest estimation 
is the rcetele, a sort of salmon-trout, which is found 
under different names in most of the lakes of Switzer- 
land. The day had promised a fine sun-set, but, as 
is often the case, these expectations were disappointed. 
There are four different routes by which you may 
ascend the Rigi ; but that from Art is perhaps, on 
the whole, the best ; not only as regards the road 
itself, but because the views by the way are confined, 
and the grand panorama is reserved till you arrive at 
the summit. 

It took four hours and a half of good walking to 
reach the top. The evening was extremely cold ; 
the wind at north-west, and Fahrenheit's thermometer 
stood at 40. 

26th. We rose soon after four o'clock in order to 
see the sun rise, which he did in the fullest splendour ; 



» • 



352 rigi. 

gilding the white summits of the Swiss Alps, of which 
you command a view from the Sentis in Appenzell, to 
the Gemmi in the canton of the Valais. Ebel says, 
that fourteen lakes are visible, but I could only make 
out eleven. It was a magnificent spectacle. A sun- 
rise upon the Rigi, — the Regina Montium, — forms an 
epoch in one's life, which can never be forgotten. 
No man can help feeling on such an occasion some of 
those sensations, which Rousseau so eloquently de- 
scribes as the effect of the air of high mountains, 
though it perhaps may be doubted whether the cause 
be not altogether moral, rather than physical. " Ce 
fut la, — on the top of the Rigi for instance,— -ce fut 
la, que je demelai sensiblement, dans la purete de 
Pair ou je me trouvais, la veritable cause du change- 
ment de mon humeur et du retour de cette paix inte- 
rieure, que j'avais perdue depuis si long terns. En 
efFet, c'est une impression generate, qu'eprouvent 
tous les hommes, — quoiqu'ils ne l'observent pas tous, 
— que sur les hautes montagnes, ou Pair est pur 
et subtil, on se sent plus de facilite" dans la respi- 
ration, plus de legerete dans le corps, plus de 
s6r6nite dans Pesprit; les plaisirs y sont moins 
ardens, les passions plus moderees. Les meditations 
y prennent je ne sais quel caractere grand et sublime, 
proportionne aux objets, qui nous frappent, — je ne 
sais quelle volupte tranquille, qui n'a rien d'acre et de 
sensuel. II semble qu'en s'6levant au dessus du s6- 
jour des hommes, on y laisse tous les sentimens bas 



rigi. 353 

et terrestres, et qu'a mesure qu' on approche des re- 
gions etherees, l'ame contracte quelque chose de leur 
inalterable purete. On y est grave sans melancolie, 
paisible sans indolence, content d'etre et de penser ; 
tons les d^sirs trop vifs s'^moussent, ils perdent cette 
pointe aigue qui les rend douloureux; ils ne laissent 
au fond du cceur qu'une Amotion legere et douce ; et 
crest ainsi qu'un heureux climat fait servir a, la felicity 
de rhomme les passions qui font d'ailleurs son tour- 
ment." 

Such is the description of Rousseau, of which every 
man has, more or less, felt the truth ; and it is, no 
doubt, to enjoy in platonic perfection such seraphic 
raptures, that a lady of Switzerland has fixed her 
residence on the summit of the Rigi during the 
summer ; where she receives and entertains such 
pilgrim visitors as may be thought worthy to parti- 
cipate in them. 

In descending, we took the road to Wegghis, 
which is the shortest and the steepest Here we em- 
barked to cross the lake of Lucerne where we re- 
joined our carriage. 

27th and 28th. The road from Lucerne to Bern, 
by way of Zofingen, passes through the most fertile 
and best cultivated part of Switzerland. The views 
are of a softer and richer character, and the land- 
scape is constantly enlivened by herds of grazing 
cattle: a feature which is often wanting, especially 
in the Pays de Vaud ; where the favourite system, is 

2 A 



85h MANAGEMENT OF CATTLE. 

to confine the cattle to the house. In the neighbour- 
hood of Lausanne, there is a large grazing farm ; 
where no less than a hundred cows are thus kept in 
the confinement of the stall, during the whole year. 
The advantages of this mode, in a farming point of 
view, seem to be considerable. The grass which 
supplies them with food during the summer, instead of 
being wastefully trodden under foot, and daintily 
picked, is regularly and fairly cut, — fat and lean to- 
gether, — and is thus made to go much further ; while 
the vast quantity of manure which is accumulated 
from so large a stock is sufficient to support the pas- 
tures under the constant exhaustion of the scythe. 

The Swiss are very attentive to the dressing of 
their pastures, and to the preservation of the means 
of doing so, particularly to the urinary part of ma- 
nure, by far the richest and most valuable, of which 
they collect and treasure up every drop with scrupu- 
lous care. 

The animals on the other hand give more milk 
than if they were at liberty ; and are in much better 
condition, in the grazier's sense of the word ; — that is, 
they are always ready for the butcher. The only 
objections to this mode arise out of considerations 
for the happiness of the animals themselves, to whom 
we are disposed to attribute human feelings and sen- 
timents, and to imagine, that they derive the same 
pleasure from browzing freely in the sunshine of the 
meadow, or reposing in the protecting shade of the 



MANAGEMENT OF CATTLE. 355 

wood-land, surrounded by the beauties of nature, 
which we should ourselves feel, if similarly situated. 

But it may I think be fairly concluded, that ani- 
mals, though they may seem to participate with man, 
to a certain extent, in the faculty of reason, are 
utterly insensible to all the pleasures of taste and 
imagination. The beautiful has no charms for 
the brute creation ; for even in the passion of sexual 
desire, where, if any where, it might be supposed to 
have some influence, we do not perceive that youth, 
beauty, and cleanliness, make a more forcible appeal 
to their feelings, than age, dirt, and deformity. And 
it may be doubted whether the tranquillity and pro- 
tection from flies during the summer afforded by the 
stall, be not sources of greater gratification to these 
animals, with whom 

" To live well means nothing but to eat," 

than any which they could find in the enjoyment of 
liberty, or the contemplation of the landscape. 

29th. After again exploring the beauties of Bern, 
and its promenades, we retraced our steps to Pay- 
erne. 

30th. Returned to Lausanne ; — the more one 
sees of Switzerland, the more one is pleased with the 
country, and the less one is pleased with the inha- 
bitants. 

Point d y argent point de Suisse, is a maxim of 
which every day's experience demonstrates the truth. 

2 A 2 



356 LAUSANNE. 

Our bill last night, was just twice as much as it was 
a fortnight ago at the same place ; and our host was 
somewhat confused, when we produced his former 
account, in opposition to his charge. Swiss honesty 
is a phrase that is much used, and it may have some 
application — out of Switzerland ; but it is an article 
that seems to be cultivated solely for exportation, 
and none is retained for home consumption. 

September 6th. Packing up. Farewell visits. 
Last drive round the environs of Lausanne, which 
are studded with pretty villas ; amongst which La 
Chabliere is conspicuously beautiful, — the residence 
of Mr. Canning, the British Minister, whose cour- 
teous and hospitable attentions will not be forgotten 
by any of his countrymen who have resided at Lau- 
sanne. 



LAUSANNE. 357 



CHAPTER XII. 

Departure from Lausanne — Geneva — Ferney — Cha- 
mount — Mont Blanc— Mer de Glace — Aix — Cham- 
berry — Lyons — Journey to Montpellier — Scenery 
of the Rhone — Hannibal's Passage — Revolutionary 
Horrors — Nismes. 

September 8th. XjEFT Lausanne in a voiturier's 
carriage, consuming eight hours in the journey to 
Geneva. There is a metropolitan appearance about 
Geneva ; and it would seem that the people had ac- 
quired a taste for military foppery, during their long 
connexion with France. 

The town is fortified ; — and there is as much pomp 
and circumstance in the examination of your passport 
at the gate, as if you were entering the capital of a 
military despot. In the lower and trading part of the 
town, the houses, which are very high, have arcades 
of wood supported by pillars carried up to the roofs, 
something after the manner of Chester. The upper 
part of the city, which is built on a gentle ascent, is 
clean and handsome ; the houses are of fine stone, 
and the views from the public walks, towards the lake 
and neighbouring mountains, are magnificent, The 
Rhone issues out of the lake in two rapid streams of 
dark and transparent blue, which unite soon after- 
wards, before they join the muddy Arve. It is sur- 



358 GENEVA. 

prising how the notion could ever have prevailed, that 
the Rhone passed through the lake without mixing 
with its waters ; but, there is this very extraordinary 
fact, — at its >going out, it resembles neither the muddy 
colour of its former stream, nor the crystal clearness 
of the lake through which it has passed, but is of as 
deep an indigo as the stream that runs from a dyer's 
furnace. 

September 9th. Drove to Les Delices ; — the re- 
sidence of Voltaire, before he fixed himself at Ferney ; 
but there was nothing to be seen. Afterwards to 
Ferney. His bed-room and salon remain precisely in 
the state in which they were when he occupied them. 

Under the canopy of his bed is a portrait of Le Kain ; 
on one side of the hangings, a portrait of the King of 
Prussia, — and on the other, one of Voltaire himself. 
On another side of the room is the Marquise de Cha- 
telet, his mistress. On the third wall are the Empress 
of Russia ; Clement XIV, better known by the name 
of Ganganelli ; Voltaire's Sempstress ; and his Little 
Savoyard Boy. On the remaining side are a collec- 
tion of prints. The family of Calas — De Lille — 
Diderot — Sir Isaac Newton — Franklin — Racine — 
Milton — - Cprneille — Antoine Thomas — Leibnitz — 
De Mairan — Helvetius — Washington — D'Alembert 
— Marmontel. — All these remain as he had placed 
them. Here too is a model of the monument which 
he prepared for the reception of his own heart, with 
this, inscription : 



FERNEY. 359 

Mes manes sont consoles 

Puisque mon coeur 
Est au milieu de vous. 

All the prints are very poor performances, of small 
size. The Sempstress and Savoyard Boy are beau- 
tiful subjects, and very prettily done in crayons. I 
could not hear that there was any tale of scandal 
relating to either. The portrait of Frederic is a vile 
daub in oil colours, which an ale-house in England 
would scarcely accept as a sign. That of the Mar- 
quise de Chatelet is not much better, though her 
countenance apparently deserved an abler artist. Ca- 
tharine of Russia's portrait is executed in embroidery. 
Le Kain's is a wretched performance in crayons ; and 
if it was like him, there never was an actor who had 
to contend against greater disadvantages of person. 
Voltaire's portrait is by far the best of the collection; 
the face is full of vivacity and spirit. It must have 
been done when he was a very young man ; and placed 
here, it looks as if he had been the god of his own 
idolatry. 

The portrait of Clement XIV, should have been 
inscribed with his memorable repartee to Voltaire, 
which has still higher merit than its wit to recom- 
mend it. 

The Baron of Gleiche?i, in his way to Italy, stopped 
at Ferney, and inquired of Voltaire what he should 
say from him to the Pope? — " His Holiness,'" replied 
Voltaire, " favours me with presents of medals, and of 



360 VOLTAIRE. 

indulgences, and even sends me his blessing : but I 
would rather that Ganmnelli would send me the ears 
of the Grand Inquisitor." — The Baron delivered the 
message: — " Tell him," replied Clement, " that, as 
long as Ganganelli is Pope, the Grand Inquisitor shall 
have neither ears nor eyes." 

The whole town of Ferney was of Voltaire's 
creation. His estate consisted of about 900 acres. 
I talked with an old pair, who spoke of him with 
the greatest affection, and told me tales of his va- 
rious charities ; — of his portioning the poor to enable 
them to marry, — and of the kind interest which he 
took in all their concerns. He was very fond 
of rifle shooting, and encouraged popinjay contests 
amongst them, in which he himself took a part. An 
old domestic produced two relics of his master; — 
the cap which he used to wear in his study made of 
white silk embroidered with tinsel, — and a curious 
book, in which Voltaire had made a collection of 
the seals of all his correspondents. The seals were 
pasted in, and underneath each, he had written the 
address of the writer. It seems, that it was his 
practice when he received a letter, to examine and 
verify the seal, by referring to his book; and if 
it came from a quarter he did not like, he refolded 
it in an enveloppe, and returned it unopened to the 
writer. 

He built the church of Ferney close to his 
own gate, as if he had a mind to illustrate the 



VOLTAIRE. 361 

old saying, — the nearer the church, the further from 
G— . 

So much for Voltaire, whose merits as an author 
seem to have been over-rated. Johnson's praise of 
Goldsmith might with some limitation be applied to 
him, — nullum fere scribendi genus non tetigit, nullum 
quod tetigit non ornavit ; but though he sparkled in 
almost every style of writing, he did not perhaps 
shine pre-eminently in more than one. He had more 
wit than genius, — and his forte rather lay in cooking 
up the thoughts of others, with his own sauce piquante, 
than in producing new sources of knowledge. He is 
perhaps only maximus in minimis ; an exquisite writer 
of a satiric tale ; unrivalled in wit, raillery, and 
sarcasm ; — and inimitable in " exposing knaves and 
painting fools." Beyond this, there is little to say. 
His epic poetry, his tragedies, and his histories are 
only extraordinary, in their combination. Separately 
considered ; — his epic poetry would be placed by all 
but Frenchmen in the very lowest class of epic 
poems, all that Lord Chesterfield says to the con- 
trary notwithstanding ; — his tragedies are inferior in 
force and grandeur to those of Corneille, and in 
sensibility and pathos to those of Racine. Of his 
history much is romantic; and the Age of Louis 
XIV, upon which his claims as an historian are 
founded, is, rather a collection of materials for a 
history, than an historical work. On many subjects, 
it is plain he had but a smattering. Perhaps a 



362 VOLTAIRE. 

stronger instance could not be given of the difference 
between a mouthful and a belly-full of knowledge, 
than would be afforded by a comparison of Vol- 
taire's preface to CEdipe, with Johnson's preface to 
Shakspeare. 

His physiognomy, which is said to have been a 
combination of the eagle and the monkey, was il- 
lustrative of the character of his mind. If the soar- 
ing wing and piercing eye of the eagle opened to 
him all the regions of knowledge, it was only to 
collect materials for the gratification of that apish 
disposition, which seems to have delighted in grinning, 
with a malicious spirit of mockery, at* the detected 
weaknesses and infirmities of human nature. Though 
a man may often rise the wiser, yet, I believe none 
ever rose the better, from the perusal of Voltaire. 
The short but admirable epitaph on him may well 
conclude his character — 

" Ci git V enfant gate du monde quit gataP 

On our return to Geneva we had as usual a battle 
to fight with the voiturier — a kind of animal, of all 
others the most nefarious — and perhaps the Swiss 
species is the worst. The dispute ended, as most 
disputes do, — by the fool submitting to the knave. 
I paid the rascal his demand, and proceeded to 
Bonneville, to sleep ; — -and the next day brought us 
to St. Martin. 

September 11th. Rainy morning; — nothing to be 



VALLEY OF CHAMOUNI. 363 

seen. On entering the valley of Chamouni it cleared 
up. Stopped to examine the glacier of Bossons, 
which is perhaps the brightest glacier in Switzer- 
land. But all glaciers look like frozen snow, rather 
than frozen water ; and in fact they are all covered 
more or less with a thin coat of snow. Some of the 
pillars, or rather spires, of ice in this glacier are 
above a hundred feet high. 

Arrived at Chamouni before dusk ; — but Mont 
Blanc was invisible — enveloped in mist and clouds. 

It is now nearly a century since Pococke ex- 
plored this valley, which was till then as little known 
as the interior of Africa. There are now two well 
appointed inns ; and, during the summer season, it 
has become the fashionable resort of all the idle 
tourists of Europe. 

September 12th. Beautiful day ; — but before the 

sun appeared above the horizon, which it did not do 

till nine o'clock, it was bitterly cold. I had now for 

the first time, a fine clear view of Mont Blanc, 

soaring snow-clad through its native sky, 

In the wild pomp of mountain majesty — 

with the whole range of needles; some of which 
appear higher to an unpractised eye, than Mont 
Blanc itself. But the eye is of all witnesses the 
most inaccurate, and it is some time before it can 
be taught to distinguish which is really the summit of 
Mont Blanc. 

Rode to the cross of the Flegere ; a height on the 



364 CHAMOUNI. 

opposite side of the valley to Mont Blanc. The 
best point of view to look at a mountain is from an 
opposite elevation, and not from the plain. From 
the height of the Flegere, we enjoyed the prospect in 
full perfection ; — Below, as Johnson would say, was 
" immeasurable profundity," and above, " inacces- 
sible altitude." The needles now sunk to a level 
with ourselves, while the round head of Mont Blanc 
rose higher than ever. 

After having inscribed our names on the cross of 
the Flegere, we prepared to descend, and in our 
way down stopped to refresh ourselves and our mules, 
on the mossy bank of a clear spring, from whence the 
prospect on every side was superb ; — " and all was 
rudeness, silence, and solitude." A tranquil and 
happy hour ! — I was reminded of Johnson's hour of 
rest on a <( bank such as a writer of romance would 
have delighted to feign" in his tour to the Hebrides. 

A full view of Mont Blanc at midnight, by the 
light of a glorious moon. 

September 13th. Ascended Montanvert, to go to 
the Mer de Glace. It is impossible to describe this 
scene better, than in the words of Coxe, who com- 
pares it to "a raging sea suddenly frozen in the 
midst of a violent storm." The glaciers which ter- 
minate the Mer de Glace debouch fairly into the 
valley of Chamouni, in enormous masses, overturn- 
ing trees, protruding forward vast blocks of granite, 
and threatening to advance, notwithstanding the 



MER DE GLACE. 365 

crosses which have been set up to check their pro- 
gress ; many of which the Glaciers have actually 
overturned, in spite of the religious processions, 
which the superstition of the people leads them to 
hope will interrupt the course of nature. Vast pyra- 
mids of ice, of all forms and sizes, are constantly 
giving way, as they are pushed forward by those 
behind, or rather by the insensible movement of the 
whole mass, and they fall down with the noise of a 
peal of thunder. 

The Mer de Glace, or Valley of Ice, is one of those 
things which, like Vesuvius, does not disappoint ex- 
pectation. As that represents " the fiery floods" of 
the place of punishment, so this is the other extreme, 
— the " thrilling region of thick ribbed ice." No- 
thing can be more awfully sublime ; and there is just 
enough of danger, in the chasms that yawn under 
your feet, and the occasional cracking of the surface, 
to impress the mind in a manner that disposes it to 
feel in its full force all the grandeur of the scene. 
Amongst other effusions in the Album at Montanvert, 
the Empress Josephine had written a quatrain, with 
her own hand; but some unprincipled collector of 
autographs has torn out the leaf in which it had been 
inscribed. The registrar, however, retained the verses 
in his memory, and has re-written them in the book : 

" Ah je sens qu'au milieu de ces grand phenomenes, 
De ces tableaux touchans, de ces terribles scenes, 
Tout eleve l'esprit, tout occupe les yeux ; 
he coeur seul, un moment, se repose en ces lieux." 

1810. 



366 MONT AN VERT. 

An imperial quatrain is too great a curiosity to be 
within the reach of criticism ; but how shall we ex- 
plain a sentence inscribed by Madame de Stael ! 
" Si les passions n'aneantissait — (probably aneantis- 
saient) — la sensibility du cceur, on verroit les hommes 
s'abstenir des choses impures, et que le sentiment 
reprouve, mais Fame incline vers sa perfection ne 
saurait composer avec ses principes, et jetter dans la 
vie une autre vie, qui conduirait a un avenir sans 
avenir." 

De Stael Holstein, 17 Aout 1815. 

I own I am not CEdipus enough to understand what 
the Sphinx would be at here ; though I have faithfully 
transcribed the sentence — even to a fault. If the 
author of the Rejected Addresses had visited Cha- 
mouni, one might almost suspect it was a quiz. It is 
certainly very like the style of the lady in question, par- 
ticularly, when — as it often happens to her — she does 
not seem to understand her own meaning. This, I 
suspect, is frequently the case, in the mystical and 
metaphysical parts of her writings ; which continually 
remind us of our old friend the Vicar of Wakefield, 
with his " anarchon ara kai ateleutaion to pan." 

I record one more effusion in the Album, which 
is more intelligible, and perhaps applies as strongly 
to the foregoing, as to any other piece of galimatias 
in the whole collection. 

" J'ai pense," says the writer, " que les grandes 
impressions que Fon recoit ici donneraient de grandes 



MONT BLANC. 367 

pensees ; que la purete, la legerete de Fair qu'on y 
respire les feroit rendre avec nettete ; parsuite j'ai 
donne en Juillet 1809 un registre au Montanvert, 
pour que les Voyageurs y consignassent leurs reflex- 
ions : — Je m'en repens. Ce que j'y ai lu, — ce que je 
lis ici, me desespere. On a du bon sens quandon se 
determine a voir la Vallee de Chamouni, mais je vois 
qu'on le perd en y arrivant." 

My guide was one of ten who a few weeks ago 
attended a Polish count in an expedition to the 
summit of Mont Blanc. They pitched their tent the 
first night in a sheltered spot, about two thirds of 
the way up ; the second day they succeeded in reach- 
ing the top, and rested again at night in the same 
spot ; and the third day they returned to Chamouni. 

This was a mere excursion of pleasure and curi- 
osity, unconnected with scientific observation, which 
made great part of the object of M. de Saussure's 
expedition in 1787. It was a short time before this, 
that M. Paccard, the 4 apothecary of Chamouni, and 
Jaques Balma the Guide — ever afterwards called 
Balma Montblanc — went up without any other com- 
panions, and had the glory of being the first to 
explore the maiden snow of these uninhabited regions 
of frost and silence, which had never been disturbed 
by the tread of any living thing. M. de Saussure 
gives one caution to pedestrian travellers, which may 
be found of use. He advises you, before you enter 
upon a dangerous path, to familiarize your eye with 



368 aix. 

the precipice beneath ; lest the sight of it should 
break upon the view unexpectedly, and occasion a 
dizziness, that might be fatal. The guides on the 
contrary, always recommend you, when you are 
passing the brink of a precipice, to turn your eyes 
away from it. This may be the best rule, when it 
can be done ; but sometimes the precipice will ob- 
trude itself upon you, whether you will or no, and 
then it is certainly as well to be previously pre- 
pared for it. 

September 14th. Returned to Geneva. — As the 
weather was fine, I had an opportunity of seeing all 
that is to be seen between Chamouni and St. Martin. 
Though the scenery is occasionally very grand, yet 
it cannot be compared with Lauterbrunn and Inter- 
laken. Mont Blanc improves as one recedes from 
him. A mountain like a hero loses much from juxta- 
position. I was disappointed in the impression he 
made upon me when I was face to face with him at 
Chamouni; but at the Torrent-noir, or on the bridge 
of St. Martin, he might, — addressing me as the 
ghost of Banquo,— say with Macbeth, — " Why so, 
— being gone, — I am myself again!" 

September 15th. Arrived at Aix — a small town 
in Savoy. The hot springs are much celebrated for 
their effects in removing all chronic pains. The 
baths are well built, and the expense of bathing is 
very trifling. It is a sulphurated water, so hot, that 
the thermometer stands at 110. The general mode 



LYONS. 369 

of bathing is the douche, as it is called ; — the water is 
made to fall from a height of some feet, and is con- 
ducted by a pipe, so as to play with considerable 
force upon the part affected. After being parboiled 
in this manner for twenty minutes, they wrap you up 
in a blanket, and carry you back to bed. The 
douche is very fatiguing. After a trial for ten days, 
the only effects it produced on me were nausea, head- 
ach, and general debility ; so I resolved to change the 
scene. 

26th. Drove to Chamberry ; — passed the day in 
strolling with Rousseau's Confessions in my hand to 
Les Charmettes, the quiet retreat in which he lived 
with his Marnan, Madame de Warens. His descrip- 
tion of her person, is one of the most animated pic- 
tures of grace and beauty that ever was penned ; 
and her gentle and benevolent character is still more 
interesting than her beauty: 

The house is situated in a valley, surrounded by 
mountains ; but scarcely a vestige remains of the 
garden, which he tells us he cultivated with his own 
hands. 

27th. I once more consigned myself to a voi- 
turier, to be conveyed to Lyons. The road across 
the mountains is romantic. This road is the work of 
Charles Emanuel, second Duke of Savoy, who has 
recorded his achievement in an inscription as — "Ro- 
mania intentatum cceteris desperatum" — but it has been 
thrown into the shade by the imperial road-maker of 



370 LYONS. 

the Simplon ; who has here also cut his way in a 
straight line through the mountain, by a subterraneous 
tunnel of many hundred yards long. — • 

At Pont-de-Beauvoisin, our baggage was strictly 
searched. The custom-house is in the habit of in- 
stituting a very rigorous examination on this frontier, 
for the ostensible purpose of preventing the intro- 
duction of Geneva goods, particularly watches and 
jewellery ; but it is notorious that cases of watches 
are carried over the mountains, by men on foot, in 
large quantities ; and the rate of insurance is so low, 
that it would lead one to suppose there must be a 
secret understanding between the custom-house and 
the smuggler. 

The first impression of France is favourable, but 
as you approach Lyons, the country becomes more 
bleak and open. 

28th. Arrived at Lyons before sun-set. — Lyons 
is the Manchester of France ; filled with a manu- 
facturing, money-getting tribe, who wear their hearts 
in their purses. The sight of an Englishman is worm- 
wood to them ; and well it may, — for we seem to be 
travelling fast towards surpassing them even in their 
own staple manufacture. 

The first view of Lyons is grand; the Rhone and 
the Saone flow through it in parallel lines, and the 
broad-paved quays of the Rhone are magnificent. 

First sight of French soldiery ; — fine stout looking 
men ; but their pale livery has a bad effect. 



LYONS. 371 

29th. There are several interesting Roman an- 
tiquities in the neighbourhood of Lyons ; and the 
aqueducts of Marc Anthony still remain on the moun- 
tain Fourvieres. 

At the Hotel de Vilie are the celebrated bronze 
tablets which record a memorable speech of the 
Emperor Claudius. 

Made a tour of the principal silk manufactories ; 
and, without professing to be a very accurate judge, 
I thought not only their pocket-handkerchiefs, but 
their silk stockings, very inferior to our own. The 
price of a handkerchief is five francs ; a pair of silk 
stockings of the best quality costs twelve francs. In al 
their stuffs, the inferiority of the French taste in the 
pattern is very conspicuous ; at least it is generally 
what we should call staring, flaunting, and vulgar, — 
but perhaps there is no disputing about taste in the 
patterns of silk. 

Lyons seems to be full of Buonapartists. They 
received him with enthusiasm on his return from Elba ; 
and yet one might have thought that the recollections 
of the reign of terror, — of Collot d' Herbois, Fouche, 
and Chalier, — would have given a bias to the Lyonese 
politics, against this child and champion of the Revo- 
lution. 

30th. Nothing can be more evident than the hos- 
tile feeling towards England and Englishmen, which 
manifests itself here on every occasion. Nor is it 
surprising, when we consider that the Lyonese regard 

2B2 



372 LYONS. 

us as the causes of the decline of their commerce ; for 
the dullness of trade is as much the subject of com- 
plaint here as every where else, at the present mo- 
ment ; and the odium mercatorium is perhaps, next to 
the odium theologicum, one of the deadliest sources of 
enmity. 

The Valets de Place point out with precision the 
spot where Hannibal crossed the Rhone ; though 
Whittaker, who acts as moderator between Polybius 
and Livy, and occasionally sets them both right, 
would wish to make it quite clear that he crossed the 
river at Loriol in Dauphiny ; and that he marched 
up the course of the Rhone, keeping the river on his 
left, all the way to Geneva. 

The accounts I hear of the climate of this place, 
dissuade me from thinking of passing the winter here. 
No place is more subject to sudden changes from heat 
to cold. There is also a great deal of rain, and the 
winter is cold and long. Besides, it is not pleasant to 
reside in a town where the public feeling is so hostile 
to you; and amongst a people who look daggers at 
you, though they may use none. 

October 1st. The great hospital at Lyons is a 
noble establishment, and all the arrangements are 
calculated to promote the comfort of the patients. It 
is attended by the Sceurs de la charite, who officiate 
as nurses, with a kind spirit of benevolence that must 
be as beneficial to the minds as to the bodies of their 
patients. 



JOURNEY TO MONTPELLIER. 373 

One cannot look without respect and admira- 
tion at these devoted sisters of Christianity, whose 
profession of vows has been made with a View to 
enlarge rather than to contract the sphere of their 
utility. 

None of the common objections to monastic in- 
stitutions have any application to this order of nuns, 
which is founded on a practical imitation of the con- 
duct of their Divine Master ; — who, according to the 
simple narrative of the Evangelist, "went about 
doing good." 

October 2nd. While I was deliberating into what 
quarter of the world I should move, I stumbled on 
a voiturier, who was on the point of setting out for 
Montpellier. When you have no decided will of 
your own, the best way, I believe, is, to commit 
yourself to the tide of events, and let them carry you 
quocunque ferat tempestas. — At least, it was in this 
disposition of mind that I hurried back to my hotel 
to collect my packages, — and before I had time to 
consider whether I had done well or ill, I found myself 
at Vienne, where we slept. At this place, there are 
some relics of the Romans ; and the people shew you 
a house which they tell you belonged to Pontius 
Pilate, and in which they would have you believe 
that he died. 

It was here that Pius VI. the late Pope, breathed 
his last, who confirmed by the misfortunes of his reign, 
the presentiment to which his title had given rise ; for, 



374 SCENERY OF THE RHONE. 

the number six has always been considered at Rome 
as ominous. 

Tarquinius Sextus, was the very worst of the Tar- 
quins, and his brutal conduct led to a revolution in the 
government ; — it was under Urban the sixth, that the 
great schism of the west broke out ; — and Alexander 
the sixth outdid in crime all that his predecessors 
amongst the Tarquins, or the Popes, had ventured to 
do before him. It was during his papacy, that the 
line was written, which in after times was applied to 
the election of his successor Pius VI. 

" Semper sub sextis perdita Roma fuit." 

In Pius VI. 's life, "nothing became him like the 
leaving of it ;" and he attracted more respect by the 
piety and resignation with which he bore the insults 
heaped upon him by the French during his captivity, 
than he could ever have commanded in the palace of 
the Vatican. 

October 3d. I should have embarked in the Coche 
oVeau at Lyons, and descended the Rhone to Avignon ; 
but the pleasure of this scheme depends entirely upon 
the state of the wind. If this be adverse, as in the 
present case, you may be detained many days, and 
there is no certainty of arriving at any habitable inn, 
to rest at night. The views of the river, with the 
surrounding scenery, have to-day been very pleasing ; 
but it would be profanation to compare them with the 
lovely Wye, and " the dear blue hills of my own^ 
country." 



TAIN. 375 

The more I see of Prance, the less am I able to 
understand how it has gained the title of La belle 
France. The phrase cannot certainly refer to pic- 
turesque beauty, of which no country has less to boast. 
Perhaps this deficiency may in some measure account 
for the utter want of taste for the beauties of nature, 
in the English sense of that phrase, which is so re- 
markable a feature in the French character. 

A Frenchman cannot understand the feeling that 
is delighted with the contemplation of picturesque 
beauty ; it is as unintelligible to him, as the pleasure 
of music to a man who has no ear. 

His beau ideal of landscape is that which produces 
the greatest quantity of corn, wine, and oil. He will 
indeed chatter about les belles horreurs of a Swiss 
scene ; but, the very terms he uses prove how inca- 
pable he is of communing with nature, and interpret- 
ing the language she speaks, in the sublime scenes 
which she there addresses to the imagination. 

4th. ha belle France grows dirtier and dirtier. 
Sunday is no sabbath here. All the shops are open, 
and every thing goes on as usual. Even the butchers 
are at work, elbow-deep, in their horrid occupation. 
We halted in the middle of the day at the little town 
of Tain, near which are the vineyards so famous for 
their red and white hermitage. This tract, however, 
cannot supply a tithe of the wine which is sold under 
that name. It is a small black grape, rough and un- 
pleasant upon the palate. It would seem that all the 



376 VALENCE. —MILITARY MANIA. 

good wine is .exported, for the sample which was given 
me as the best, was but ordinary stuff. The end of 
our day's journey brought us to Valence. It was at 
the military school of this place that Napoleon was 
educated, and he practised the first lessons of the art 
of war on the Champ de Mars of Valence. 

There is a story current here, that, from want of 
means, he was reduced to the necessity of leaving his 
boarding-house, without paying his pension, 

5th. As you advance towards the south, the coun- 
try becomes richer, and begins to wear an Italian ap- 
pearance. 

Encountered a large troop of deserters. In Eng- 
and, it requires three guards to prevent one deserter 
from running away. Here, fifty deserters are con- 
ducted by three gens d'armes, like so many beasts 
being driven to a fair. They were most of them mere 
boys, and apparently in great misery. 

The military spirit seems to have evaporated ; or 
the white flag has not the same fascination that the 
tri-coloured possessed. Under Napoleon, the military 
were every thing ; and the only road to honour and 
power was through the profession of arms. The airs 
of consequence which the army assumed, and the 
tyranny which they exercised over all the rest of the 
world, to whom they applied the contemptuous appel- 
lation of pequins, were almost as intolerable as the 
old grievances of which the Roturiers complained 
against the Nobles, 



LORIOL. 377 

This is no longer the ease. The prestige of mili- 
tary glory received its death's blow at Waterloo ; 
and the army feel now, that they no longer enjoy that 
paramount weight and consideration in public opinion, 
upon which their insolence was founded ; 

Fortuna ssevo lssta negotio, et 
Ludum insolentem ludere pertinax, 
Transmutat incejtos honores — 

Fame and honour are now to be gained by fighting 
the battles of the Senate, towards which the public 
attention and public interest are almost exclusively 
directed. 

I deviated from the road at Loriol, to examine the 
banks of the river at this point, where Whittaker 
would demonstrate that Hannibal passed with his 
army. He relies much upon a passage in Livy, de- 
scribing Hannibal's course after he had passed the 
river : 

" Poster o die, profectus adversa ripa Rhodani, 
mediterranea Gallice petit, non quia rectior ad Alpes 
via esset, sed, quantum d mart recessisset minus obvium 
fore Romanum credens, cum quo priusquam in Italiam 
ventum foret, non erat in animo, manus corner ere. 
Quartis castris, ad insulam pervenit ; ibi Arar Rho- 
danusque amnes, conjluunt in unum." 

So far so good. — Loriol would certainly be about 
four days' march from Lyons, where the Rhone and 
the Arar, (now the Saone) unite, and where they once 
formed an island. 



378 LORIOL. 

But, if the authority of Livy is to be relied on, 
how shall we reconcile what he says afterwards, with 
the supposition of Hannibal's having marched up the 
Rhone to Lyons ? — Livy says, that after leaving this 
island ; — -■" quumjam Alpes peter et, non recta regione 
iter instituit sed ad la?vam in Tricastinos fiexit, hide per 
extremam oram Vocontiorum agri tetendit in Tricorios, 
haud usquam impedita via priusquam ad Druentiam 
flumen pervenit." Now, the Tricastini were to the 
south of Loriol ; and how he could have passed per 
extremam oram Vocontiorum, to arrive at the Tricorii, 
will puzzle any one who will examine the map. But, 
the last is the greatest riddle of all ; what could bring 
him to the Druentia, now La Durance 1 . Again if Livy 
be correct, Hannibal passed the river in Volcarum 
agrum, which can hardly be made to extend to Loriol. 
But I believe we must conclude from reading Livy's 
account of this matter, which is throughout so incon- 
sistent with itself, that he wrote it without his map of 
Gaul before him, or else, that our map of Gaul is very 
different from his*. 

We halted at night at Montelimart. 

* Since writing the above, I have read an ingenious treatise,, 
by M. de Luc of Geneva ; who takes the text of Polybius for 
his guide, and gives very satisfactory reasons for setting Livy 
aside, wherever their authorities differ. M. de Luc makes 
Hannibal cross the Rhone lower down than Loriol, in the neigh- 
bourhood of Avignon. His four days' march then brings him 
to the here, at the point where it falls into the Rhone. This 
river which in the different Editions of Polybius is called hear 



CHATEAU DE GRIGNAN. 379 

6th. Near Montelimart was the Chateau de Grig- 
nan ; where Madame de Sevigne" fell a victim to ma- 
ternal anxiety, and was buried in the family vault. 
The Chateau was destroyed during the fury of the 
Revolution, and the leaden coffins in the vaults pre- 
sented too valuable a booty to be spared, by the brutal 
ruffians of those days. The body of Madame de 
Sevign6 had been embalmed, and was found in a 
state of perfect preservation, richly dressed ;— but no 
respect was paid to virtue even in the grave ; every 
thing, even to the dress she wore, was pillaged and 
taken away ; and the naked corpse left to mingle, as 
it might, with its native dust. 

or Scoras, by a corruption of the Latin text which puzzled the 
Commentators, has been converted by the Editors of Livy, from 
Bisarar, into Arar. If, instead of three letters, they had been 
content with removing one, it would have left Isarar, which is 
very nearly its modern name. This then is the Insufo at which 
Hannibal arrives ; — viz. that tract of country insulated on all 
sides but one, by the Rhone and the Isere. He then makes for 
the Alps, but not directly, on account of the mountains of les 
Echelles, over which there was no road at that time. He turns 
therefore ad Icevam ; — that is, instead of due east, he marches 
north-east round these mountains, until he comes to the Druentia, 
which is not the Durance, — but the Drance. This river runs 
through Chamberry, and falls into the Rhone near Yenne — the 
ancient Ejanna. M. de Luc, whose reasoning is for the most 
part clear and convincing, conducts Hannibal from the Drance 
to the pass of the little St. Bernard, and so down the valley of 
Aoste to Ivree. Here Hannibal is obliged to deviate from his 
direct road, in order to take Turin — the capital of the ancient 



380 REVOLUTIONARY HORRORS. 

This unnatural war with the dead is one of the 
most revolting features of the French revolution. 
What must be the character of that people who 
could find gratification in rifling the sanctuary of 
the tomb ; and who, carrying their enmity beyond 
the grave, could glut their brutal and cowardly re- 
venge in offering insults to the defenceless remains 
of the most illustrious characters in the history of 
their country? No respect was paid to rank, or 
sex, or virtue ; and this was not a solitary outrage, 
committed at a single place, but the general practice 
throughout France. A fellow passenger tells me 
that he saw the body of Laura, the mistress of 
Petrarch, exposed to the most brutal indignities in 
the streets of Avignon. It had been embalmed, and 
was found in a mummy state, of a dark brown colour. 
It was the same every where ; — the best and the 
worst of the Bourbons — Henry IV. — and Louis XI. 
were exposed to equal indignities, nor could the 
deeds of Turenne himself protect his corpse from the 
profanation of these ferocious violators. All the 
cruelties committed upon the living, during the reign 
of blood and terror, will not stamp the French name 
with so indelible a stain, as these unmanly outrages 
upon the dead. The first may * find some palliation, 

Taurini, whose alliance he had been unable to conciliate ; after 
which he marches with all haste to encounter Scipio on the 
banks of the Ticinus — now the Tesino ; — and there M. de Luc 
leaves* him. 



REVOLUTIONARY HORRORS. 381 

weak as it is, in the party rage, and political ani- 
mosity, of an infuriated populace ; — but what can 
be urged in extenuation of the last ? it is worse than 
the fury of the beasts ; for of the Lion at least we 
are told, — that he " preys not upon carcases." I 
blush, in venting my indignation against the French, 
at the recollection of the indignities that were offered 
in my own country, to the remains of Cromwell and 
of Blake, who were both taken from Westminster 
Abbey — the first, to be hanged at Tyburn and buried 
under the gallows- — and the last, to be cast into a pit 
in St. Margaret's church ; but I console myself with 
thinking, that this was done by the " express com- 
mand" of the government of that day, in which the 
people had no share, and by which, I trust, our cha- 
racter as a nation cannot be affected. 

We crossed the Rhone at the Pont de St. Esprit, 
which is 3,000 feet long, being nearly three times 
the length of the bridge at Westminster. It is turned 
against the stream with a point, like a bastion. From 
the road, you command a view of the Pont du Gard, 
a splendid relic of Roman architecture, built to con- 
nect the ranges of an aqueduct, which extends for 
seventeen miles ; — fragments of which are still re- 
maining, in various parts of the hills. 

The first entrance into Languedoc is not prepos- 
sessing; as you travel to the south, you find all 
the comforts of civilization decrease, and dirt and 
wretchedness flourish. — Slept at Bagnols. 



382 LANGUEDOC KITCHEN. 

7th. The kitchen of a village inn in Languedoc 
is enough to damp the strongest appetite. I wished 
for the pencil of Wilkie at Remoulins, a little village 
where we breakfasted this morning. While the host, 
who played as many parts as Buskin in the farce, 
was killing the devoted fowl, his cat ran away with 
the sausages intended to garnish it. Poor Chanticleer 
was laid down to finish his death-song as he could, 
while the host pursued puss to her retreat, which was 
so well chosen, that a third of the sausages were 
gone before he discovered her. Puss however paid 
dearly for it in the end ; — for in endeavouring to make 
her escape under a door, the aperture was so small 
that her hinder legs and tail were left on the hither 
side of it, upon which mine host wreaked his ven- 
geance, by stamping most unmercifully. At last we 
sat down to Grimalkin's leavings ; and though the land- 
lord had no " appliances and means" to help him, 
nor scarcely a stick of wood with which to make a 
fire, he did contrive, somehow or other, to furnish a 
very tolerable breakfast; and this seems to be the 
great merit of French cookery — that it can make 
something out of nothing. Moliere observes that 
any body can dress a dinner with money and ma- 
terials ; and if a professed cook cannot do it without, 
his art is not worth a farthing. 

This part of Languedoc may be very rich and 
productive, but nothing can be less pleasing to the 
eye — stone-walls instead of hedges — no meadows — 



NISMES. 383 

no cattle — and no trees, but the olive; which adds 
little to the beauty of the landscape. 

A poor Carmelite nun joined our party, who had 
been driven out of her convent in Spain by the 
French, and was now seeking an asylum. 

The rigid austerities practised in her convent had 
not however extinguished entirely the vanity of her 
sex, some remains of which still lurked under her 
coarse black hood, breaking out in the delight with 
which she traced up the antiquity of her order, higher 
than all other monastic institutions, to Elijah, and 
mount Carmel. 

Nismes, where we arrived in the evening, is full 
of Roman antiquities. There is an amphitheatre in 
good preservation ; — and the Maison Quarree, as it 
is called, is one of the most beautiful relics of ancient 
architecture that fciave come down to us. It has been 
supposed that this temple was built in the reign of 
Augustus ; and Monsieur Seguier has contrived to de- 
cipher an inscription which contains the names of 
Marcus Agrippa and his sons ; — but this inscription 
is not very satisfactorily made out; and those ar- 
guments seem to be the strongest, which, from a 
comparison of the minuteness and profusion of orna- 
ment of the Maison Quarree, with the more simple 
architecture of the iVugustan age, would fix its date 
at a later period. 

8th. My first impt ession of the French character 
is, that it must be greaitly changed from that gay and 



S8i NISMES. 

lively frivolity, of which we used to hear so much. 
My fellow-passengers are serious and reserved ; each 
man seems to suspect his neighbour; and, at the 
Table d'Hdte, where I have dined and supped during 
my route, the company could not have been more 
silent and sombre, if the scene had been laid in 
England during the month of November. There 
is a crest-fallen look about them, and they shake 
their heads and shrug their shoulders when they talk 
of the Congress, in gloomy apprehension of the 
future. 

This seventh day's journey brought us at last to 
Montpellier ; where, being heartily tired of the jumb- 
ling of the carriage, I was well disposed to make a 
halt. 



385 



CHAPTER XIJI. 

Montpellier — Climate — Parti/ Spirit — Conscription — 
Buffon—Iron Mask — Rousseau — Journey to Tou- 
louse — Beziers — Canal of Languedoc. 

October 9th. 1 HE situation of Montpellier is 
very fine ; and the environs are pretty. The view 
from the Place de Peyrou, where from one spot you 
see the Mediterranean to the south, and on a fine 
day may command the Pyrenees to the west, and 
the Alps to the east, is superb. All the statues which 
once ornamented this place were destroyed during 
the iconoclastic fury of the revolution. 

10th. Engaged a lodging in a clean protestant 
family on the Boulevard de la Comedie ; and for two 
rooms am to pay sixty francs per month. I would 
rather have established myself in a maison de pension ; 
but there is no such thing in Montpellier ; so that one 
is forced to dine at a restaurateur's, which to an 
invalid, in winter-time, is a serious inconvenience. 

There is a custom amongst the restaurateurs in this 
part of France, which to a resident is worth knowing. 
If you dine regularly at the same house, you may, 
by paying a certain sum in advance, have credit for 
one-fifth more than you have paid. 

2 C 



38() MONTPELLIER. CLIMATE. 

11th to 18th. A week of severe illness. It is 
difficult to conceive how Montpellier ever obtained 
a name for the salubrity of its climate. For pectoral 
complaints it is probably one of the worst in the 
world. It is true, there is almost always a clear blue 
sky; but the air is sharp and biting, and you are 
constantly assailed by the bise, or the marin ; — and 
it is difficult to say which of these two winds is the 
most annoying. 

The one brings cold, and the other damp. The 
climates of Europe are but little understood in 
England, nor indeed is it an easy thing to ascertain 
the truth, with respect to climate. Travellers ge- 
nerally speak from the impression of a single season, 
and we all know how much seasons vary. 

I believe that Pisa is the very best place on the 
continent, during the winter, for complaints of the 
chest ; and Nice, of which I speak from good au- 
thority, is perhaps the very worst. The air of the 
first, which is situated in a low plain, is warm, mild, 
and muggy ; that of the second is pure, keen, and 
piercing. The air of Montpellier is of this latter 
character ; — it is as different from Pisa, as frisky 
cider from milk and water, and every mouthful of it 
irritates weak lungs, and sets them coughing. If 
there be any climate preferable to Pisa, it may per- 
haps be Rome ; where the air is pure, without being 
piercing; and, if one might illustrate it by a compari- 
son with a liquor, I should compare it to cowslip wine. 

19th. Nothing can be more dull than Montpellier 



PARTY SPIRIT. 387 

is at present. There is nothing going on in the shape 
of amusement or instruction. It is vacation, and 
the lecture-rooms are shut. There is but little 
society ; and the good people here, as if civil dud- 
geon were not enough to set folks together by the 
ears, have seasoned their dissensions with the sauce 
piquante of religious hatred, — and are with difficulty 
restrained from cutting each other's throats. While 
the present king lives, things may continue quiet ; 
but the pro test ants seem to fear lest under his more 
orthodox brother the tragedy of St. Bartholomew 
might be revived. 

Nor do these fears seem to be wholly without 
foundation. The scenes that took place here and 
at Nismes, in 1815, after the second abdication of 
Napoleon, were dreadful. The triumph of a party 
in France is something more than a change of mi- 
nistry ; for the re-action that it produces amongst 
the inflammable inhabitants of the southern provinces, 
is followed by proscriptions and massacres. 

The party that is uppermost cannot be content 
without cutting the throats of their opponents. This 
they proceeded to do in 1815, but the king interposed 
to check the outrageous zeal of his ultra- adherents ; 
and this is likely to happen again at any time, if, 
instead of endeavouring to be the common protector 
of all his people, the king, by the formation of an 
ultra-royalist ministry, were content to be the head 
of a faction. 

2C 2 



388 CONSCRIPTION. 

The way in which the election of deputies for the 
department of Gard was conducted in the year 1815, 
shews the means by which the ruling party in this 
part of the world would wish to maintain its ascen- 
dency ; — no less than thirteen protestant electors were 
assassinated in their way to the electoral college. 

One is astonished by the amount of the popula- 
tion in the French towns ; Nismes is said to contain 
forty thousand souls, and Montpellier five-and-thirty 
thousand ; and you wonder where they can be stowed. 

I am surprised to find at this place, which has been 
so long the resort of well-informed people, such a 
lamentable inattention to the most indispensable com- 
forts and decencies of life. It would require the pen 
of Winifred Jenkins herself to describe some of the 
miserable expedients of la belle France ! 

Attended at the theatre, which was crowded to 
excess, to witness the drawing for the Conscription. 

This law, which was held up as the great motive 
for resisting the tyranny of Napoleon, is nevertheless 
still continued by his successors. 

The drawing was an amusing scene and truly 
French. The people assemble in a sort of amphi- 
theatre. The Prefet presides. The names of all 
those of the prescribed age are called over ; and 
every man of whatever rank, high or low, answers 
to his name, and draws his lot. If he is absent, the 
Prefet draws it for him. When any one drew a 
number above the complement required, thereby en- 



CONSCRIPTION. 389 

suring his own exemption, his antics of joy were in the 
highest degree comic ; and when the number was 
within the complement, the exultation of the spec- 
tators, whose own prospects were thereby bettered, 
were expressed by the loudest applause, without any 
consideration for the feelings of the drawer. The 
present assessment is light enough, as maybe collected 
from the price of a substitute, who may now be pro- 
cured for 500 francs, whereas, in Napoleon'^ time, the 
price has been as high as 14<,000 francs. 

There needs but one law more — a property tax, 
which is a conscription of money, as the other is of 
men — the one operating on the purses, as the other 
does upon the persons of men — to complete a perfect 
system of despotism. 

Wherever these two laws are thoroughly esta- 
blished, and the people trained to submit to them, 
the rights of personal security, and private property, 
are annihilated. 

If governments would never raise more men or 
more money than the public interest required, both 
these laws are perhaps the best, because the simplest, 
the fairest, and the cheapest, in arriving at their 
object. But constituted as human nature is, none 
but an essentially popular government could be 
trusted with such a tremendous engine, which would 
place at its disposal every man, and every shilling that 
he has,— incase of necessity ; — a plea which was never 
yet wanting to justify any exercise of power. 



390 PROPERTY TAX. 

Napoleon did in fact take away the whole popula- 
tion at one fell swoop, and there is no saying where a 
property tax might stop, on this side of ninety-nine 
per cent. For the principle of the tax once ad- 
mitted, the Sorites argument would never be wanting, 
to furnish the minister of finance with a pretence for 
plucking out one more hair ; 

" Utor permisso, caudseque pilos ut equinse 

Paullatim vello : et demo unum demo etiam unum ; 
Dum cadat elusus ratione mentis acervi." 

Still, however, there are so many arguments in 
favour of a property tax, properly modified, that in 
a free government like England, where the people, 
through their representatives, exercise a control over 
the national expenditure, there seems but one condi- 
tion wanting to make it the best, as it is unquestionably 
the fairest and cheapest mode of raising money, which 
is, that it should be the only tax. In this case, it 
might safely be trusted to the feelings of the repre- 
sentatives themselves, to take care, that a tax, which 
came home so immediately to their own business and 
bosoms, was not unnecessarily increased. 

If this had been the system of raising the supplies 
in England during the last century, it may well be 
doubted whether such vast sums would have been 
expended; — sums which are easily voted, when it is 
proposed that they shall be raised by an increase of 
duty of a halfpenny upon this, and a penny on that 
article ; — -a proposal that is agreed to, as a matter of 



PROPERTY TAX. 391 

course, and nobody thinks it worth while to pause, and 
consider from whose pocket the money is to come. 
If then, all other taxes were abolished, the property 
tax might be hailed as a security for economy of 
expenditure, as it is in itself the least expensive of all 
taxes in the collection. It has been calculated that 
a man already pays at least the half of his income, in 
some shape or other, to the support of government. 
If this be so, he would surely not fare the worse, by 
paying the same sum openly as a 50 per cent, duty 
upon property ; which would then reach the ex- 
chequer, without being subjected to the enormous 
deductions that are now made from it by all the 
various charges of collection. 

This would then be the only shape in which the 
tax-gatherer would appear, and England might hope 
to become again, beyond all others, the land of 
cheapness and plenty. 

But if the property tax be brought forward only 
when all other means fail ; for there is a limit to in- 
direct taxation— when two and two no longer make 
four — when increase of duty only produces decrease 
of consumption — if it be introduced as the pincers, to 
extract those sums which will not yield to the 
common turn-screw of taxation, — it must then be 
regarded as an additional weight to the already 
enormous burden, under the pressure of which, the 
agriculture, the trade, and the prosperity of the 
country are now languishing. 



392 PROPERTY TAX. 

It would not be one of the least advantages of such 
a system of taxation, that it would take away the ar- 
guments of those who, for their own purposes, seek 
to persuade the labouring classes that the principal 
part of the taxes, as at present imposed, is paid by 
them. These arguments, however, have manifestly 
no foundation; for, no axiom of political economy 
seems more clear, than that the taxes upon the neces- 
saries of life, are not, in point of fact, paid by the la- 
bouring classes themselves ; and that by increasing or 
diminishing the duty of any article of their necessary 
consumption, little more is done, as it regards them, 
than eventually to increase or diminish the rate of 
their wages. They do indeed feel all taxes, but it is 
remotely, and in the same way that they would really 
feel the property tax ; — namely, by the operation of 
that and every other tax upon capital, in abridging 
the means of employing them. 

One of the conscripts behaved so riotously, that the 
gens d'armes took him into custody ; but, as they were 
conducting him through the streets, his mother raised 
a mob in his favour, who, after a sharp struggle, suc- 
ceeded in rescuing the prisoner from his keepers, and 
bore him off in triumph. 

20th. While sitting at breakfast this morning, I 
saw my hero of yesterday with his mother, tied back 
to back in a cart, escorted by a large party of cavalry, 
who lodged them safely in the prison of the town. 

Attended the drill of the recruits, which is con- 



BUFFON. 393 

stantly going on, as if France were preparing for an 
immediate campaign. The dishabille of the soldiers, 
especially of the cavalry, is very slovenly. The in- 
fantry march to the sound of the drum alone, for there 
are no fifers amongst them. The troops in this 
quarter are small, slight, and scraggy ; and if I am 
not mistaken, there is more of muscle and sinew in one 
Englishman than in half a score of them. I speak 
only of the infantry ; for there is a great contrast be- 
tween them and the cavalry, who seem to be picked 
men. Went to the theatre for the first, and for the 
last time. The actors were worse than I ever saw in 
England. 

21st to 28th. Confined to the house. Rambled 
through BufFon's— Discours sur la Nature des Ani- 
maux — which is very ingenious and clever, excepting 
his blasphemy against love, of which he seems to have 
had a very low opinion. He seems to think that love 
and friendship cannot be identified, and felt for the 
same object. Did he judge from his experience of 
French women ? 

Buffon, with all his eloquence, is a remarkable in- 
stance of that national coarseness, and grossness of 
feeling, which is so much the characteristic of the 
French. They are eminently deficient in sensibility, 
imagination, and enthusiasm ; when they attempt to 
be sentimental, they do but talk it, — and cannot even 
talk it well. I doubt whether the Pleasures of Ima- 
gination could be made intelligible to them by any 



39i BUFFO N. 

translation. Every man thinks he knows the mean- 
ing of sentiment ; — and yet, it is a difficult word to 
define, without determining its application ; but I be- 
lieve it is commonly used in opposition to mere ani- 
mal sense, which is all that the French word sentiment 
often signifies. For instance, the sentiment of love, 
in our use of the word, is something very different 
from the animal sense, which may be perhaps the 
foundation of the passion between the sexes. It is 
sense, refined and exalted, through the influence of 
mind, by purer thoughts, and higher considerations ; 
which, while they strip the passion of its grossness, 
increase its intensity and energy, and by expanding 
its views, convert the transitory enjoyment of animal 
desire, into a feeling as durable and lasting as the 
mind itself. 

But, let us hear Buffon on this subject. " Amour ! 

Desir inne ! Ame de la Nature ! Source feconde 

de tout plaisir, de toute volupte, pourquoi fais-tu l'etat 
heureux de tous les etres, et le malheur de l'homme ? 

" C'est qu'il n'y-a que la physique de cette passion 
qui soit bon, c'est que malgre' ce que peuvent dire les 

gens 6pris, le moral n'en vaut rien. Les animaux 

guides par le sentiment seul leurs desirs sont tou- 

jours proportionn^s a la puissance de jouir, ils sentent 
autant qu'ils jouissent, et ils ne jouissent qu'autant 
qu'ils sentent. 

" L'homme au contraire en voulant inventor des 
plaisirs, n'a fait que gater la Nature. 



BUFFON. 395 

" Tout ce qu'il-y-a de bon dans l'amour appartient 
done aux animaux tout aussi bien qu'a nous." 

Who but a Frenchman could have written thus ? 
but a Frenchman cannot rise out of the mire of sen- 
suality ; — and their literature is full of sneers and ri- 
dicule of that enthusiasm of heart, and elevation of 
soul, which seek to improve our nature, 

" And lift from earth our low desire." 

29th. Inspection of soldiers, and grand field-day. 
Nothing can be less showy than the appearance of the 
infantry. They have no feathers or tufts in their caps, 
nor fifers in their band. In going through the manual 
exercise, the French seem to be much quicker than 
any soldiers I have seen. For instance— present 
arms — and — order arms — are performed at two mo- 
tions ; which in our own drill, I believe, employ three 
distinct acts. 

The soldiers are as rapid in executing manoeuvres, 
as in going through the exercise. But the word of 
command is much more noisy than with us ; and it is 
repeated and vociferated by the officers, from the 
colonel downwards, so as to resemble the hallooing 
of cattle-drivers. 

30th. Crawled round the botanical garden; — 
the pleasantest promenade in Montpellier. It was 
here that Young, the poet, buried his daughter. The 
longer I stay at Montpellier, the less I like it. The 
inhabitants are characterized in the proverbs of their 



396 THE IRON MASK. 

own country. — Pound seven Jews in a mortar, says 
one of these, and the juice will make one Mont- 
pelliard. — Proverbs must always be understood with 
some grains of allowance ; though they have gene- 
rally a foundation in truth. But, it would be unfair 
to judge of Montpellier during the vacation. It is a 
celebrated school of medicine, and the lectures, in 
that liberal spirit which distinguishes the public in- 
stitutions of this country — and I am glad of an op- 
portunity of speaking in favour of France — are open 
to all that choose to attend, without any expense. 

31st. Stumbled " in the course of my reading," 
upon an account of the taking of the Bastile, in 
which there is an attempt to clear up the mystery 
of the man in the iron mask. It is stated, that a 
paper was found, recording the arrival of Fouquet 
in the Bastile, from the island of St. Marguerite, in 
an iron mask. 

This suggestion receives some corroboration from 
the history of Fouquet 's disgrace and punishment; 
in which there are such remarkable coincidences 
with the story of the Iron Mask, that I am surprised 
Voltaire, who, in his age of Louis XIV., relates 
Fouquet's fall, immediately after his account of the 
mysterious prisoner, was not struck with them. For, 
he tells us that Fouquet was sent to the Isle of 
St. Marguerite, and that the Iron Mask was brought 
from the Isle of St. Marguerite ; and, in concluding 
Fouquet's history, he adds this remarkable circunv 



THE IRON MASK. 397 

stance,-— that while the smallest action of his life was 
celebrated with the most minute detail, nobody knew 
when or where he died. 

Voltaire is unable to explain, and indeed there is 
something unaccountable, in the mystery and pre- 
caution which were thought necessary in the arrest 
and detention of Fouquet. The same reasons, what- 
ever they were, might have suggested the continued 
concealment of his person in the iron mask, which 
has given rise to so much speculation. 

Fouquet was arrested in 1661, — the precise date 
of the Iron Mask's arrival in the Island of St. 
Marguerite. We know that, after an imprisonment 
of twenty-nine years, the Iron Mask was removed 
from St. Marguerite, by the keeper of the prison 
in that island, to the Bastile, upon his appointment 
to the governorship of that fortress. Now, Voltaire 
tells us, that though nothing certain was known with 
respect to Fouquet's end, yet, there was a notion 
amongst his friends, that he had quitted the Island of 
St. Marguerite before his death. 

These are remarkable coincidences ; nor is there 
any thing in Fouquet's age to make the identity of 
these two persons impossible. The removal of the 
Iron Mask to the Bastile took place in 1690, and he 
died in 1703, after a captivity of forty-two years. 
Fouquet was born in 1615, and was Intendant 
General of the Finances in 1643; at the age of 
wenty-cight. In 1661, the date of his arrest, he 



398 ROUSSEAU. 

was forty-six, and forty-two years of captivity will 
make him eighty-eight, at the time of his death ; — 
that is, if he were indeed the Iron Mask, who died 
in 1703. 

November 1st to 8th. A week of confinement. 
Rambled through Voltaire, Bayle, and Rousseau. 
Rousseau's " Confession of a Savoyard Curate," 
though written, as it would seem, to invalidate the 
authority of Christianity, leaves behind an impression 
in its favour, stronger perhaps than is produced by 
most works written purposely to defend it. 

And indeed, Bishop Porteus has not disdained to 
quote it from the pulpit, to advocate the cause of 
religion. It is one of the most splendid specimens 
of eloquence extant in any language, and the whole 
tone of the sentiments illustrates a passage in one of 
Voltaire's letters to Hume. " You are mistaken, 
says he, in Rousseau ; he has a hankering after the 
Bible, — and is little better than a Christian after a 
fashion of his own." 

After all, what is there that can be urged against 
Christianity, which may not be directed with equal 
force against Deism. The doubts of the Atheist, 
considered as a question of abstract reasoning, can 
only perhaps be answered — as Berkeley's reasoning 
against the existence of the material world was an- 
swered — by boldly begging the question at issue, and 
resolving the cause of our belief into an original 
principle of our constitution. For, the existence of 



ROUSSEAU. 399 

an infinite first Cause can never be made a matter of 
demonstration. The physical proof, derived from 
the order and arrangement of the universe, is mani- 
festly inconclusive. The intelligence of the work 
may prove an intelligent contriver ; — but it cannot 
therefore follow, that the contriver is Eternal — 
Almighty — Infinite — all, in a word, that we include 
under the sacred name. Again, the metaphysical 
proof, as it is called, which, from the consciousness 
of our own existence, would trace it up to some 
necessarily existing first cause, is not a jot more 
satisfactory. The sum and substance of the whole 
argument amounts to this. I exist — therefore some- 
thing exists. If something exists — something must 
have existed from all eternity ; for " Nothing can 
come of nothing ;" — and this something is the first 
cause, of which we are in search. But the axiom 
on which this argument is founded, ex nihilo nihil 
fit, will cut both ways; and it is perhaps more in- 
comprehensible to human faculties, to conceive an 
uncaused first cause, than to meet the difficulty in 
the first stage ; — and consider the world itself as 
uncaused and eternal. The Atheist indeed neither 
affirms nor denies ; but suggests, that the existence of 
a Deity is an arbitrary hypothesis, to account for 
the phenomena of the universe. Can the Deist con- 
fute him by argument? Must he not at last be 
brought to acknowledge that his own belief is founded 
upon faith ? — and the speculative Atheist will pro- 



400 ROUSSEAU. 

bably not deny that it is a faith, which we alt feel 
impelled, by the very constitution of our nature, to 
admit, intuitively, as soon as we can comprehend 
the terms of the proposition ; — for Atheism is a doc- 
trine which, however the head may be amused with 
its subtleties, the heart rejects. But does the faith 
of the Deist go far enough ? Will Deism satisfy the 
head, or administer consolation to the heart? Is 
it not a cold and comfortless creed, alike unsatis- 
factory to both?— unless indeed we could return 
again to Paradise. Adam might have been a Deist, 
and contentedly a Deist ; — but fallen man has need 
of something more. The world is no longer a 
happy garden. Evil assaults us on every side ;— 
and we need not look further than our own hearts, 
for evidence of the continued existence of that rebel- 
lious opposition to sense of duty, which we are taught 
was the cause of its introduction into the world. 
But, be the cause what it might — the existence of 
evil, in every appalling form, cannot be denied ; 
here it is; — and how will the Deist reconcile these 
phenomena with his abstract idea of a Deity, with- 
out having recourse to the Revelation that he de- 
nies? — which not only explains the fearful mystery 
of our present situation, but at the same time points 
out the remedy ; and furnishes us with assurances, 
which unassisted reason could never have suggested, 
by which we are enabled to look forward with faith 
and hope, to a better state of existence hereafter. 



JOURNEY TO TOULOUSE. 401 

9th. Left Montpellier in the diligence at night ; 
and arrived at Beziers to breakfast next morning. 

The French diligences have been very much im- 
proved of late years, but there is still room for fur- 
ther progress. The carrying six inside, which is the 
usual complement, is detestable. The conducteur 
answering to our guard, rides in the cabriolet ; while 
the vehicle is driven by a postilion, who manoeuvres 
his five horses, which are marshalled, two at wheel 
and three leaders a-breast, with admirable dexterity, 
riding on the near side wheel-horse. The horses seem 
to be trained with great care, and obey the word of 
command like a troop of soldiers. 

In Italy and France, the voice is much more used 
than the whip, in the government of horses ; indeed, 
it is, I believe, with beasts as with men, mild treat- 
ment will often reclaim tempers, that kicks and blows 
would only tend to make more brutal and vicious. 

My companions in the diligence were all on the 
qui vive, for the carriage had been stopped and 
robbed, two evenings before, by a single foot-pad. 
This fellow had practised a most ingenious stratagem 
to effect his purpose. He manufactured ten men of 
straw, and drew them up in the road, in battle 
array ; — then, having taken his post a little in ad- 
vance, he ordered the diligence to stop ; threatening 
if the least resistance was offered, to call up his com- 
panions, and put all the passengers to death. In this 
manner, he laid the whole party under contribution, 

2D 



402 BEZIERS. 

amongst whom were two Spanish merchants, whose 
purses were heavily laden. 

10th. Beziers is situated on a commanding emi- 
nence, from whence there is a beautiful view of the 
river Orbe, and a rich and cultivated valley, for 
many miles. Its situation would have tempted me to 
make some stay, but the streets were so dirty, and 
the appearance of the people so miserable, that I 
despaired of finding a decent residence. 

There is a coche d'ean, which goes every day from 
Beziers, at twelve o'clock, by the famous canal of 
Languedoc, to Toulouse, Finding that this passage 
boat would be four days in making the voyage, as the 
weather was very bad, I decided to continue in the 
diligence. In fine weather the boat offers a pleasant 
and most economical mode of traversing this country. 
The fare of each day's passage is 30 sous, and the 
universal price throughout France, regulated by law, 
for supper at the table d'hote and lodging, is three 
francs and a half ; though an Englishman is generally 
charged as much again ; but if he travels by a public 
conveyance, he need never pay more than the above- 
named sum. 

This canal was the work of Paul Riquet under the 
auspices of Louis XIV, and has been of more use 
to France than all his victories, and a more splendid 
monument of his glory, than all his plaything water- 
works at Versailles. It connects the Atlantic and 
the Mediterranean ; near this town it is carried through 



CANAL OP LANGUEDOC. 403 

a mountain by means of a tunnel, which, however 
common now, was an extraordinary enterprise then. 
In some places it is conveyed by aqueducts over 
bridges, under which other rivers pursue their course. 

In order to secure a supply of water in dry seasons, 
a basin has been constructed at St. Ferreol, which is 
perhaps the most extraordinary part of the whole 
undertaking. This immense reservoir, built of gra- 
nite, is an English mile in length, and about half 
that distance in breadth, and contains an area of 595 
acres, — collecting the waters of the various springs 
that rise in the Black Mountain. 

The road from Beziers offers little worthy of ob- 
servation. Lauguedoc is very different in reality from 
the charming pictures which Mrs. Radcliffe has drawn 
of it in her " Mysteries of Udolpho." 

The people have a miserable look, denoting po- 
verty and wretchedness. Shoes and stockings are 
very generally dispensed with ; or if shoes are worn, 
it is the wooden sabot, which is a sad clumsy contri- 
vance. 

Manure seems an article in great request in this 
province. Boys run after the diligence, for a mile 
after changing horses, to catch the first fruits of ex- 
ercise upon a full stomach ; and I observed that a 
handful of this precious commodity was a common 
stake set between two lads, in playing at quoits. 

The country improves as you approach Toulouse ; 
a neatly painted cottage occasionally meets the eye, 

2 D 2 



404 TOULOUSE. 

and something" like an attention to comfort is observ- 
able. After two nights and two days in the dili- 
gence, we arrived at Toulouse. I remember the 
time when the very idea of two days and two nights 
in a stage-coach, carrying six inside, and full all the 
way, would have made me ill. But, travelling 
" brings us acquainted with strange bed-fellows," 
and is the best receipt I know for curing a fine 
gentleman. 



405 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Toulouse — Jean Galas — Battle of Toulouse — French 
Politics — La Fontaine — haw of Elections — JJecole 
Royale — French Cookery — French Cleanliness — 
Criminal Jurisprudence. 

November 12th. 1 HE first impression of Tou- 
louse is favourable, though it has a deserted appear- 
ance. It has lost much of its consequence by the 
Revolution, which has swept away its Parliament ; 
grass now grows in some of the streets ; and the 
population which was formerly as high as 80,000, is 
now not computed at more than 55,000. It is built of 
brick, and this gives it a warmer look, than the cold 
white stone of Montpellier. The bold line of the 
Pyrenees forms a noble back-ground to the view from 
the bridge, which is one of the chief ornaments of the 
town ; the Garonne being here above 800 feet wide. 

Established myself in a pleasant lodging, in the 
Rue des Cordeliers, looking due south, into a large 
garden. Two rooms — 30 francs per month. 

13th. Explored the town. In the great square 
is the capitol, containing the apartments in which the 
estates general of Languedoc used to hold their ses- 
sions. There are two public libraries, one or other 



406 toulouse! — jean calas. 

of which is open to the public every day, containing 
large and valuable collections of ancient and modern 
books, in all languages, with every accommodation 
for reading. At Toulouse there is an University 
containing at least 1,500 students, and there are 
daily lectures in chemistry, botany, and all branches 
of natural philosophy ; and these, like the libraries, 
are thrown open to all, who have an inclination to 
benefit by them, gratis. These are resources, which 
make Toulouse a more agreeable residence than most 
provincial towns ; but, a provincial town is bad at 
best. If one must live in a town, it should be in a 
capital ; — provincial politics, and parish scandal are 
intolerably tiresome. 

The promenades here are extensive and pretty; 
though the beauty of these is sadly defiled, by the 
abominably filthy habits of the people. But this is 
the case throughout France ; the streets, and the 
public walks, are scarcely passable, owing to the 
disgraceful and disgusting practices of a people, who 
set themselves up as models of politeness and bien- 
seance. 

14th to 18th. Rain. My neighbour, in my lodging 
house, is a fine old veteran of seventy-two, whose 
history would furnish the materials for a novel. He 
tells me he was present at the execution of poor 
Calas, in the square of St. George in this town. 

The successful efforts of Voltaire, to establish his 
innocence, and to save his family from sharing his 



JEAN CALAS. 407 

fate, have given notoriety to the tragic history of 
this venerable victim of bigotry and injustice ; who, 
at the age of 65, was condemned to be broken alive 
on the wheel, for the supposed murder of his son, 
without a shadow of proof. It was urged against 
him, that he had conspired with the rest of his family 
to put his son to death, to prevent him from becoming 
a convert from the protestant to the catholic religion, 
as one of his brothers had become before him. The 
truth seems to have been, that the son, who was of 
a melancholy temperament, had hanged himself. 

Poor Calas supported the agonies of his punishment, 
which lasted two hours, with the most patient resigna- 
tion ; and while he calmly protested his own inno- 
cence, spoke with charity and forgiveness of his judges. 

Nor were the blows of the executioner all that 
he had to endure, during these two dreadful hours ; 
for he was also subjected to the mental racking of a 
catholic priest, who was torturing him with exhor- 
tations to confess his guilt. 

At last the signal was given to the executioner, to 
to inflict the coup de grace ; when the priest himself, 
convinced by the calm and steady denial of the dying- 
father, addressed the surrounding populace in the 
following words, which seem to have been rivetted 
in the memory of my old friend, — " Voila Vame du 
juste qui s'envole." 

19th. Went over the scene of the Battle of Tou- 
louse. Soult's position seems to have been admirably 



408 BATTLE OF TOULOUSE. 

chosen, and as strong as nature and art could make 
it. The difficulty of ascertaining the truth upon any 
point, makes one doubt of all the details of history. 
The French, with their usual hardihood of assertion, 
would fain persuade you that the Duke of Welling- 
ton was informed of the events that had happened at 
Paris, when he attacked Soult's position and fought 
the battle of Toulouse ; but that he was anxious to 
gather one more wreath of laurel. Napoleon abdi- 
cated on the 4th of April, and the battle of Toulouse 
was fought on the 10th. It has however been clearly 
proved, in this case, that the officers despatched from 
Paris, to inform the Duke of Wellington of the 
revolution in the government, were arrested and 
detained at Montauban by Bouvier Dumoulart, Pre- 
fect of the district ; and they did not reach the Duke, 
till the evening of the 1 2th ; — and hence this fruitless 
effusion of blood, six days after the abdication of 
Napoleon, whicli in fact put an end to the war. 

20th. I find I have committed a great mistake in 
coming to Toulouse. I ought to have returned to 
Italy from Chamberry ; for I see that a winter in 
France will be intolerable, after dear delightful Italy ; 
but it is now too late to correct this error, — and so I 
must e'en make the best of it The English are 
regarded here with an evil eye, and it is not sur- 
prising that there should exist a soreness of spirit in 
this quarter, where the national vanity received so 
bitter an humiliation. I have heard my old neigh- 



BATTLE OF TOULOUSE. 409 

b our describe the horror, indignation, astonishment, 
and shame, that he felt, on seeing an army of English- 
men, profaning " the sacred territory " and marching 
into Toulouse en maitres ; though history might have 
furnished him with sufficient examples of similar in- 
vasions to diminish his surprise ; — and even here, our 
Wellington was pursuing the very track which our 
Black Prince had traversed as a conqueror, before 
him. But, a Frenchman reads no history that does 
not furnish gratification to his national vanity ; and 
to talk to him of any thing anterior to the reign of 
Louis XIV., is to talk of what he knows as little, as 
of what happened before the Deluge. 

Though the French cannot forget or forgive the 
battle of Toulouse, yet they speak in terms of the 
highest praise of the good conduct of individuals, and 
with admiration of the discipline of the army. It 
seems, that they had been so accustomed to asso- 
ciate war with plunder and contribution, that the 
good old-fashioned mode which the English have 
never forsaken, of softening as much as possible the 
evils of war by paying for the supplies they demand- 
ed, struck them as something new and unheard of ; — 
though I doubt whether this admiration be not gene- 
rally accompanied with a suspicion of the motive, or a 
sneer at the folly, of such conduct. " Few people," says 
Fielding, " think better of others than of themselves, 
nor do they readily allow the existence of any virtue, 
of which they perceive no traces in their own minds ; 



410 FRENCH POLITICS. 

for which reason, it is next to impossible to persuade 
a rogue, that you are an honest man ; nor would you 
ever succeed, by the strongest evidence, was it not 
for the comfortable conclusion which the rogue draws, 
that he who proves himself honest, proves himself a 
fool at the same time." And yet, the French ought 
to have learned, if nations could learn any thing 
from experience, — that honesty, in the end, is the 
best policy, and that the policy of wisdom, is the 
policy of virtue. 

21st. Napoleon is not in the south of France the 
idol of that blind adoration, which the Italians still 
pay him. His character seems here to be very cor- 
rectly appreciated, and every body is fully aware of 
the enormous evils which he inflicted upon France by 
his return from Elba. The king is denounced by the 
Ultra-Royalists as a Jacobin ; but the Jacobins do 
not recognise him as a true brother ; still I believe, 
he has the great mass of the people on his side. 
United with the Charte, he will always have the ma- 
jority with him; but then he must not use the Charte 
like an umbrella, which is only brought out in foul 
weather, to ward off the pelting storm; — for the 
people consider it equally necessary, as a parasol, to 
shelter them in fair weather from the scorching rays of 
royalty. If the king have not a greater majority now, 
it is because there are some who see, or fancy they 
see, in the first acts of his reign, a disposition to 
establish principles, tending to invalidate the very 



FRENCH POLITICS. 411 

existence of the compact between king and people, — 
which they were certainly justified in believing had 
been solemnly accepted as the terms of his restora- 
tion. Thus, his dating his reign from the death of 
Louis XVII., his abandonment of the national colour 
which he had himself worn as Monsieur in 1789, 
and his second restoration at the point of foreign bay- 
onets, have raised a spirit against him, which nothing 
but time, and the most prudent conduct on his part, 
can soften. 

Mr. Fox has pronounced, that of all revolutions, 
a restoration is the worst. Generally speaking, it 
must be so, for the restored family, bred up in ancient 
prejudices, can seldom forget the power which they 
once enjoyed ; and the people will be for ever sus- 
pecting them of forming designs to recover it, 
whether they have such intentions or not. This 
want of good understanding between king and people, 
must be greatly increased, when, as in France, the 
restoration has taken place by foreign interference ; 
and when the people must feel, that they have sinned 
beyond the bounds of forgiveness. It is indeed im- 
possible, that there should be a cordial union between 
revolutionized France, and the legitimate claims of 
the Bourbons. Who can expect that the King, or the 
Comte d'Artois should divest themselves of all fra- 
ternal feelings ; or who can be surprised that the 
Duchess d'Angouleme should shudder with horror at 
the sight of the murderers of her father, and at the 



412 FRENCH PONTICS. 

recollection of the sufferings of her brother and her- 
self? On the other side, it is equally natural that the 
French people, according to the maxim which lays it 
down that we never forgive those whom we have in- 
jured, should entertain a strong prejudice against the 
Bourbon family. The leading feature in the national 
character is vanity ; — now their national vanity has 
been humbled in the dust, and this humiliation is, un- 
fortunately for the Bourbons, inseparably connected 
with their restoration. The feeling against them was 
so strong on their second restoration, that proposals, 
it is said, were made to the Allies, offering rather to 
receive the King of Saxony, or the Prince of Orange, 
or any other King that the Allies would have vouch- 
safed to give them. 

The throne of the Bourbons seems then to be placed 
upon a barrel of gun-powder ; nothing but consum- 
mate prudence can reconcile the people to their sway, 
and prevent a fatal explosion. 

It is a common notion, and the enemies of the Bour- 
bons are at the greatest pains to strengthen it, that the 
Comte d' Artois disapproves entirely of the system of 
the king ; and that he is determined to restore the ancient 
regime in church and state, and to be aut Ccesar aut 
nullus. It matters little whether this be true, or not; 
the effect is the same, — if the people can be persua- 
ded to believe it. Accordingly, you hear a revolu- 
tion talked of as a thing of course at the death of the 
king ; and there is no saying what might happen if he 



FRENCH POLITICS. 413 

were to die immediately. But if he should continue 
to live a few years, the system which he has com- 
menced, will so have established itself ; and the peo- 
ple will be so sensible of the advantages which they 
have obtained from the Charte, that the future king, 
be he who or what he may, will be compelled to 
pursue the same course, and will be without the power, 
whatever his inclination may be, to disturb the order 
of the machine of government, or endanger the tran- 
quillity of the nation. 

22nd. Attended the church of the French Pro- 
testants. Heard a most excellent sermon, on the 
text — " Je laverai mes maim dans I 'innocence , et je 
m'approcherai d ton autel, o Eternel." The service 
consisted of a lesson from the Old Testament, a few 
prayers, a good deal of psalmody, and a sermon, 
which was preached memoriter. But in the prayers, 
and the sermon, there was a little too much onction 
for my taste. The priest pitched his voice in a re- 
citative key, which must become tiresome in a long 
service. 

The congregation was numerous ; each person had 
a chair ; and there was no kneeling down. The 
church was cold, and the men wore their hats without 
ceremony. 

23rd. I am pleased to hear, in attending the lec- 
tures in chemistry and experimental philosophy, the 
constant mention of English names, and English im- 
provements, and discoveries, with the highest eulo- 



414 LA FONTAINE. 

giums upon those of our countrymen, from Newton 
downwards, who have advanced the progress of 
knowledge. In the library to-day I discovered an 
iEschylus and Euripides, which had belonged to 
Racine, with marginal notes, in his own hand-writing ; 
but the notes were rather curious than valuable. 

In the evening to the theatre ; which is newly built, 
and very handsome. Le parti de Chasse de Henri 
IV., was well acted. The air of Vive Henri Quatre, 
which was introduced in the supper scene, was very 
feebly applauded. 

24th to 30th. Confined at home by severe in- 
disposition.-— Amused myself with La Fontaine. 
Charming style ; — " He seems to produce without 
labour, what no labour could improve." This fa- 
cility of production is essential to poetry, and per- 
haps gave rise to the maxim — Poeta nascitur ; for if 
there be any appearance of effort or labour, — if the 
numbers come from the brains like bird-lime from 
frieze — the whole charm is destroyed. Poetry has 
been well defined to be 

" Thoughts that voluntary move 
Harmonious numbers." 

This definition is well enough as far as it goes ; but 
to thoughts should also perhaps be added feelings, for 
brains alone without heart, will never make a poet. 
For example, Pope, with all the requisite qualities of 
mind, wanted the deep and fervid feelings which are 
necessary to the perfection of the poetical character ; 



LA FONTAINE. 415 

without which, the poet can never ascend the brightest 
heaven of invention. The character of his poetry may 
be well illustrated by one of his own lines. It 

" Plays round the head but comes not near the heart." 
He delights us by the fertility of his fancy, the 
elegance of his imagination, the point and playfulness 
of his wit, the keen discrimination of his satire, and 
the moral good sense of his reasoning; — but he is 
seldom pathetic, and never sublime. If Eloisa to 
Abelard be an exception to this observation, it is 
a solitary one, — and exceptio probat regulam ; and 
even in that poem the sentiment seems rather to be 
adopted, than to be the genuine offspring of the 
poet's heart. 

What that soul of feeling is, that poetical verve, 
by which alone the poet can rise to sublimity, and 
which Pope wanted, will be understood at once, by 
comparing his ode on music with Dryden's divine 
effusion on the same subject. 

His merit even in versification seems to have been 
over-rated. Pope may perhaps be said to have done 
for verses, what Arkwright did for stockings, by 
the invention of a sort of mechanical process in their 
composition. His couplets are as regular, as if 
they had been made with the unerring precision of 
a spinning-jenny. The effect of this has been to 
supersede the necessity of much skill in the individual 
workman ; and accordingly, we see every day how easy 
it is to imitate the versification of Pope, — for the me- 



416 LA FONTAINE. 

chanism was too simple to elude discovery ; but where 
shall we look for the freedom and variety of Dry den ? 
But to return to La Fontaine ; — what can be more 
affecting than his tale of the " Two Pigeons?" It 
breathes the very soul of tenderness ; and there are 
throughout his writings touches of pathos and sensi- 
bility that will rarely be found in French poetry. 
What heart there is in the lines beginning with 

Qu'un ami veritable est une douce chose ! 
And his love of rural retreat, is expressed with 
almost the force and feeling of Cowper : — 

" Solitude ou je trouve une douceur secrete 
Lieux que j'aimai toujours, ne pourrai-je jamais 
Loin du monde et du bruit, gouter l'ombre et le frais? 
Oh ! qui m'arretera dans vos sombres asiles?" fyc. 8fc. 

December 1st. Now that the Congress has broken 
up, and the Allied troops are withdrawn, the atten- 
tion of all parties is directed to the meeting of the 
Chambers. The Upper Chamber consists of 150 
Peers; the Chamber of Deputies, of 250 Repre- 
sentatives ; one fifth of which is dissolved every year. 
The qualification for a deputy is the payment of direct 
taxes, to the amount of 1,000 francs, per annum; 
and it is also required, that he should be 40 years 
of age. The qualification of an elector is the an- 
nual payment of taxes to the amount of 300 francs, 
and the full age of 30 years. And yet this is the 
new law of elections, which the ultra royalists have 
denounced as being too democratical ! 



w 



LAW OF ELECTIONS. 



417 



The chamber, which was dissolved by the king in 
1815 for its ultra royalism, had been elected under 
the imperial system of electoral colleges ; — the people 
electing in the first instance the electors, and the 
electors then nominating the representatives. The 
abuses which had crept into this system, so utterly 
unfitted for its purpose, — for it seems absolutely es- 
sential to a popular assembly that it should emanate 
immediately from the people, — threw the whole power 
of election into the hands of the government ; but it 
is to this system that the Ultras wish to return, for 
the result of the late elections has been very much in 
favour of the liberal party. That this should have 
been the case is sufficiently extraordinary, if we con- 
sider the very limited number of the whole body of 
electors in France, which is said not to exceed 
100,000 ; — a number so small, that it might be sup- 
posed — from the experience of what happens in 
England where the right of suffrage extends so much 
more widely — the influence of power and patronage 
would have been brought to bear against it with 
overpowering success. Though the popular spirit of 
the electors may be partly explained from the infancy 
of their institutions, which corruption has scarcely 
yet had time to contaminate ; yet perhaps the real 
secret of their conduct may be found in their mode 
of voting by ballot. It is true that where the voting 
is secret, bribery may continue to be carried on, to 
a certain extent, by the reliance, which will always be 

2E 



418 ELECTIONS — RECRUITS. 

placed in the performance of promises ; but the more 
pernicious influence of i?itimidation is effectually anni- 
hilated. It is this voting by ballot indeed, which is the 
only saving virtue in the French law of elections, and 
to which they ought to cling as the sheet anchor of 
their liberties ; for without this, a system which vests 
the right of electing deputies for a nation of thirty 
millions in so small a body as 100,000 electors, 
can afford no security for a real representation of 
the people. 

The other subjects of contention between the Ultras 
and the Liberaux, are the laws of recruiting ; public 
instruction ; and the appointment of mayors. 

The law of recruiting has been passed to continue 
the conscription ; but it must be confessed, that it is 
no longer the same terrible warrant of death and de- 
struction which formerly bore that name. On the 
restoration of the king, an attempt was made, but 
made in vain, to fill up the ranks of the army by vo- 
luntary enlistment. It was decided that France must 
have an army, and the present law was passed. This 
law subjects all the male population, who shall have 
attained their twentieth year, to the operation of the 
conscription. But it limits the period of their service 
to five years, when they have a right to their dis- 
charge ; and it throws open to the low T est ranks the 
hope of advancement. The equality of this law, in the 
obligation to serve, and the right to promotion, is 
very distasteful to the Ultras ; who can think only of 



MAYORS — PREFECTS. 419 

the glorious privileges which the Nobles enjoyed in 
the army of the ancient regime. 

With respect to public instruction, the Ultras wish 
to return to the old system of Freres Chretiens ; 
while the Liberaux patronise the Enseignement mutuel, 
or system of Bell and Lancaster. 

The crown at present appoints the Mayors. The 
Liberaux would wish to introduce the systtme munici- 
pal, by which the people would elect their own Mayors. 

There is a very general cry also against the extra- 
vagant emoluments of the Prefets, who are the cre- 
ation of the Consular government. This officer is 
the head of his department, and is in himself, what the 
Lord Lieutenant and the Sheriff are in our counties. 
The Prefets were of great use to Buonaparte in oil- 
ing the wheels of despotism, and their salaries were 
in proportion to their utility. The Prefecture of 
Toulouse is said to be worth 40,000 francs per annum. 

Went in the evening to the theatre. The play 
was Turcaret, an admired comedy of Le Sage ; — -but 
it is a comedy of the old school, and the bags and 
swords of the ancient bon-ton will not make the 
modern canaille of the theatre look like gentlemen. I 
am surprised to see the waiting maids, in the French 
comedy, as well or perhaps better dressed than their 
mistresses. " This is o'er doing termagant." 

2nd. Went over Uecole royale de Toulouse. The 
establishment consists of, the Proviseur, who is the 
Chef de la Maison ; the Censeur, who is second 

2E2 



420 l'ecole royale. 

in authority; eleven professors of Latin; three of 
mathematics; one of Latin and French literature; 
one of natural history ; one of natural and experi- 
mental philosophy ; one of history ; and seven Mai- 
tres (Tetude, or assistant masters. L'Aumonier, with 
a long train of assistants, tradesmen, and servants, 
from the surgeon to the shoeblack — complete the 
establishment. 

The whole number of eleves is 400. Those within 
the walls amount to 160. The terms of the school 
are, 650 francs per annum, — about 271. For this 
the boy is lodged and fed in sickness and in health, 
clothed, and instructed in all that the above-named 
professors can teach him. The dress is a uniform of 
dark blue. Each boy has a bed-room to himself, 
by night ; and a desk in the school-room by day. 
Their breakfast is bread and water ; dinner, — bread, 
soup, meat, and wine ; — supper, — bread, cold meat 
and wine ; — bread always d discretion. 

Nine hours per day are devoted to application. 
There are two months of vacation — September and 
October. With the exception of this vacation, the 
boys are kept under lock and key during the whole 
year, within the walls of the college ; beyond which 
they cannot stir without express permission. Their 
play-ground is within the walls, and to break these 
bounds without leave would be punished by expulsion. 
The internal discipline is conducted without having 
recourse to that brutal and degrading punishment. 



l'ecole royale. 421 

which, to the common disgrace of those that inflict 
and those who receive it, is still practised upon lads 
of all ages, in the public schools of England. There 
is a sense of self-respect in every rational being, that 
revolts at the insult of being subjected to blows ; and 
this sense is recognised and encouraged in the French 
schools, where no sort of corporal punishment is 
allowed; nor do I believe it is ever necessary, — 
except perhaps in early childhood, before the rational 
faculty has begun to develope itself. But blows 
present so easy a mode of carrying on the business 
of school government, that it is not wonderful school- 
masters should be desirous to retain their birchen 
sceptre, in defiance of decency and common sense. 
But it is surprising, when the systems of Pestalozzi 
and others have been explained to all Europe, that 
the public opinion of England should not have operated 
some change in this, as well as in some other parti- 
culars of school government. 

The common means in the hands of the Professors 
of Toulouse for maintaining order, are impositions of 
tasks ; pain-sec, i. e. bread and water ; and penitence^ 
which is confinement to the school-room under the 
surveillance of a Maitre d'Etude. Solitary impri- 
sonment, the heaviest of their punishments, cannot 
be inflicted without the sanction of the Proviseur, or 
the Censeur. Some disorders have lately broken out 
in many of the French schools, but these seem to 
have arisen from temporary causes. Party-spirit, 



422 FRENCH COOKERY. 

which has so convulsed the political world, has not 
been entirely shut out of schools ; where Bourbon, 
and Buonaparte, have been words of discord, and 
the question Qui vive ? has given rise to many a ju- 
venile battle. Dame Religion too, who is seldom 
idle when discord is abroad, has not been without 
her share in these disturbances, some of which have 
originated in the , jealousies between Catholic and 
Protestant. 

3rd. Toulouse is the land of cheap living, and all 
sorts of provisions are excellent of their kind. Bread 
is at two-pence a pound ; — wine, that is, the vin du 
pays, of very good quality, four-pence a bottle ; — 
meat from two-pence to three-pence. The poultry 
is very fine ; you may buy a good turkey for Ss. 6d. ; 
— a capon for Is. 9d. ; — a fowl for a shilling ; — and 
a goose for 2s. 6d. Servants' wages are also very 
low ; — I hire the attendance of a female servant to 
officiate as bed-maker, at half-a-crown per month. 

They have a custom here of fostering a liver com- 
plaint in their geese, which encourages its growth to 
the enormous weight of some pounds ; and this dis- 
eased viscus is considered a great delicacy. You get 
an excellent dinner at the table d'hote of either of 
the hotels, of two courses, dessert and wine, a dis- 
cretion, for 2s, 6d. I have established myself en pen- 
sion with a family next door ; where I have my 
breakfast, dinner, wine, cafe, and liqueur, for 80 
francs a month. 



FRENCH COOKERY. 423 

111 comparing French and English cookery, I think 
the balance is greatly in favour of the former. We 
may beat them in a few dishes, but they excel us in 
fifty. We have the advantage in soup, — though 
they are fond of saying that our soups are nothing 
but hot water and pepper ; and we beat them in fish, 
because most fish cannot be dressed too simply. 
But they have an infinity of good things ; and if hap- 
piness consisted in good-eating, I should recommend 
a man to live in France. It is quite a mistake to 
suppose that roast beef is confined to Old England, 
though the French do not present it in such enormous 
masses as we do. Nor indeed is there any great treat 
in sitting down to a huge limb hacked off its parent 
carcase, with an intimation, that " You see your 
dinner ;" — always excepting however a haunch of 
venison, or a round of corned beef, which are two of 
those morceaux peculiar to England, that constitute a 
dinner in themselves. 

When you laugh at a Frenchman for eating frogs, 
he retaliates upon you, for breakfasting upon warm 
water and sugar. Nothing can be more incorrect 
than to suppose that the French live upon soup maigre ; 
— the lower orders indeed, I believe, are very tem- 
perate, and seldom taste meat; but, amongst the 
higher classes, one might almost parody one of our 
national maxims, and say, — that one Frenchman 
would eat three Englishmen. 

Their dejeuner a la fourchette, when well served 



424 FRENCH COOKERY. 

up, is, as they term it, superbe, magnijique ; and 
wants only the addition of tea, to rival the excellence 
of a Scotch breakfast. 

In comparing the cookery of the two nations, it is 
the general excellence of the French, that is so much 
beyond our own. The best cooks in the various 
countries in Europe, are nearly the same, for they 
are formed more or less after the French model ; — 
but, in France, all are good. 

Man has been defined to be — a cooking, supersti- 
tious, self-killing animal. I know not whether the 
outward signs of these inward propensities have yet 
been discovered, in cranial protuberances peculiar to 
the human head ; but when they are, the organ of 
superstition will probably be found to predominate in 
the Spanish, as that of suicide may perhaps prevail 
in the English, whilst, if there be any truth in crani- 
ology, — the organ of cookery must be the leading 
feature of the French skull. 

So much for cookery. With respect to cleanliness ; 
- — the balance here will incline very much in favour 
of England ; though in many particulars, the obser- 
vances of the French evince a greater niceness of 
feeling than our own. A napkin is as indispensable 
to a Frenchman at dinner as a knife or a fork. In 
the lowest inn you will always find this luxury, and, 
though it may be coarse, it is always clean ; nor is it 
confined to the parlour, — all ranks must have their 
napkin, and all classes are equally nice in the use of 



FRENCH CLEANLINESS. 425 

a separate drinking glass. The silver fork too is 
almost universal, but their knives are villanous ; and 
the use, which even the ladies make of their sharp 
points in performing the office of a toothpick, is 
worse. 

The ablutions of the bath are perhaps more ge- 
nerally practised in France than in England ; though 
you seldom see a Frenchman with his face cleanly 
shaved, or his hands well washed. With regard to 
the ladies of the two nations ; — their pretensions to 
superiority in this respect were submitted to an 
emigre bishop, as an experienced judge of both 
countries, who answered, — " Les Anglaises sont plus 
propres aux yeux des hommes — et les Fra?i$aises aux 
yeux de Dieu" — in which answer there seems to be 
more included than meets the eye. 

But though in some few instances, the French 
seem to shew a more delicate sense of personal com- 
fort than ourselves ; yet in the general estimate, they 
will be found far behind us. Their houses would 
shock our neat and tidy house-wives; and their 
attached and detached offices are too filthy for de- 
scription. In their persons too, — though the bath 
may be used, the tooth and nail brush seem to be 
forgotten; and they are always either smart or 
slovenly, as you see them in their evening dress, or 
in their morning dishabille. 

Lastly ; some of their habits must be condemned 
as shockingly offensive ; — what shall we say of the 



426 FRENCH CLEANLINESS. 

spitting about the floor, which is the common prac- 
tice of women as well as men, at all times and 
seasons, not only in domestic life, but also upon the 
stage, in the characters of heroes and heroines, even 
in high imperial tragedy? — to say nothing of the 
manoeuvres of a French pocket-handkerchief — called 
expressively by Young — " a flag of abomination" — 
which would disgust the feelings of any English- 
man, without supposing him a fastidious elhe of Lord 
Chesterfield. 

In conversation too, though there is much of 
what may be called moral delicacy, which is shewn 
in little attentions to oblige, and a nice tact in avoid- 
ing whatever ean give offence ; yet, there seems a 
total want of physical delicacy on the part of the 
French. 

This will perhaps explain what has been much 
remarked upon by travellers ; — that the French rarely 
smile at the blunders of foreigners. An English- 
man feels his muscles irresistibly moved, when a 
foreigner unwittingly touches in conversation upon 
forbidden ground ; — but here, where there is scarcely 
any forbidden ground, similar mistakes cannot of 
course have the same effect. 

Feast of Sainte Barbe; — military fete. The re- 
giments of artillery had a feast, and the soldiers in 
the evening cried, Vive I'Empereur, in the great 
square. They were drunk, to be sure ; — but in vino 
Veritas. The name of Napoleon is made to stand for 



THEATRE. 427 

any thing. In the mouths of the army, it is only 
another word for a military government, and a mi- 
litary chief, without much individual attachment to 
him ; and in politics, if the cry of Vive Buonaparte 
have any influence, it can only be because it is 
considered as the badge of the Revolution, and the 
changes which the Revolution has effected ; in oppo- 
sition to the powers and privileges of the ancien 
regime. 

5th. The more I see of France and Frenchmen, 
the more I am struck with the serious and sombre 
complexion of their manners, so different from the 
pictures of other times. Nothing can be more dull 
than their theatre ; that is, than the theatre of 
Toulouse. There seems to be no sympathy of feel- 
ing, no connecting link, between the audience and 
the actors. The laughter of the scene produces 
no correspondent emotion in the house. There 
is no applause, and scarcely any attention ;— the 
spectators sit by in sullen silence. But, it must 
be owned, that the actors are not the best in the 
world. 

The young students of the University, with little 
respect to the well-behaved part of the audience, 
throw bouquets of flowers on the stage, to their 
favourite actresses. 

6th. The dullness of the theatre has been ex- 
plained to me. The audience is constantly made up 
of the same persons, and they are of course too 



428 THEATRE. 

familiar with the pieces and the actors to take much 
interest either in the one or the other. 

In the provincial towns of France, every body 
subscribes to the theatre. The spectacle, is abso- 
lutely necessary to fill up the evening of a French- 
man; for neither conviviality, nor social domestic 
parties are the fashion of the country. The theatre 
therefore is open every night, without excepting 
Simday ; on which day indeed, it is most crowded. 
Economy is the object of many of those who attend; 
for it is cheaper to subscribe and pass the evening 
from dinner till bed-time at the play, than to burn 
fire and candle at home. 

The subscription to the military who are quartered 
here is one day's pay per month ; — this was a regu- 
lation introduced by Napoleon. The students are 
admitted for eleven francs, and all other persons for 
fifteen francs, per month. For this, you have a free 
admission to all parts of the house. 

The actors seem to be tolerably well paid, for 
a provincial theatre. There are none who have 
less than 1,200 francs per annum; and the leading 
actors have as much as 8,000 francs. But then, the 
•premiers roles in France are saddled with the ex- 
pense of finding their own dresses. 

23d. Attended the assizes. A prisoner was 
brought up for horse-stealing. The president of the 
court, and three other judges were present, dressed 
in robes of scarlet ; but without any flowing horse* 



CRIMINAL PROCEDURE. 429 

hair on their heads. The Procareur General, or 
public accuser on the part of the crown, in the same 
costume, sat at the same table with the judges ; so 
close to the jury, that he was continually commu- 
nicating with them in an undertone, and even during 
the defence, he from time to time suggested some- 
thing aside to them, as it seemed, to do away the 
impression of what was urged in the prisoner's fa- 
vour. The jury consisted of the principal inhabitants 
of Toulouse, and of the professors of the university. 
The whole court seemed to consider themselves as 
pitted against the poor devil at the bar. The pre- 
sident acted throughout as counsel against him ; and 
even his manner, in the frequent cross-examination 
to which he made the prisoner submit, was what in 
England would be called unfeeling and indecent. 
Though the charge involved so serious a punishment ; 
the judges, and Monsieur le Procureur, seemed to 
think it a very facetious circumstance, and laughed 
heartily, — when the culprit aided his own conviction 
by some ill-considered answer. 

Even the jury, and the spectators, seemed to be 
without any feelings of sympathy for the accused, and 
the address of his counsel was not listened to with a 
decent attention by any body ; — though it ought to 
be added in their excuse, that the address was a vil- 
lanously stupid one Still it was impossible not to 
be shocked at the apparent want of fair play in the 
whole procedure. 



430 CRIMINAL PROCEDURE. 

The spirit of equality, which pervades every thing 
in France since the revolution, seems to have found 
its way into the courts of Justice, in some of their 
observances ; and in these instances at least, we 
cannot condemn its influence. The prisoner and the 
witnesses are accommodated with seats, not as mat- 
ter of favour, but as matter of right : and the wit- 
nesses give their evidence sitting. This is surely 
nothing more than just ; it is a sufficient evil that a 
man, without any fault of his own, should be liable 
to the inconvenience of attending as a witness, with- 
out being subjected to the additional punishment of 
standing up in a witness-box, during an examination 
of as many hours as it may please the counsel to 
inflict upon him. 

The witness is not sworn upon the Bible ; but he 
holds up his hand, and to the charge of the president, 
— Vous jurez, sans haine, et sans crainte, de dire la 
verite, et rien que la verite, — he answers, — Je le 
jure. 

No evidence was taken down; and the summing 
up of the judge was only a recapitulation of the 
proofs against the prisoner. 

The jury retire to deliberate, and bring in their 
verdict in writing. 

The prisoner was found guilty, and sentenced to 
five years' imprisonment. 

29th. Assizes again. — A very interesting trial 
of a man for shooting at another, with an intent to 



CRIMINAL PROCEDURE. 431 

kill him. Before the commencement of a trial, the 
names of the witnesses are called over ; and they are 
then sent out of court, that one may not hear the 
evidence of the other. The President opened the 
case to the jury. The proof was defective ; at least, 
it was a very nice case as to the identity of the man ; 
— and yet, one of the questions of the Procureur Ge- 
neral to the prisoner, in a cross-examination in aid 
of the proof against him, was — Are you possessed of 
a gun ? ! ! ! No evidence was taken down. When 
the evidence closed, the Procureur General spoke in 
support of the prosecution ; the prisoner's counsel 
then spoke in his defence, and lastly the Presi- 
dent summed up, remarking, in this instance, upon 
what had been advanced on both sides ; but still 
it was the speech of an advocate against the pri- 
soner, in which character the French judge seems 
to consider himself. In the course of this trial, the 
President examined the witnesses for the'prosecution, 

as to the character of the prisoner, in this sort of 
way : — 

"Do you know any thing of the prisoner's cha 
racter ?" 

" Have you ever heard any thing against him?" 

"Do you think it likely from what you know of 
him, that he would commit the crime with which he 
is charged ?" 

In another trial, the judge, in his opening of the 
case, in order to influence the jury against the pri- 



432 CRIMINAL PROCEDURE. 

soner, commenced his speech by telling them, — that 
the same culprit had very lately appeared at the bar, 
and had been acquitted by the jury on the score of 
his youth, as he was only one day beyond the age 
which made him liable to legal penalty ; and that, in 
addition to this lenity, the jury had made a subscrip- 
tion for him, in order that he might have something 
with which to begin the world again. This was the 
opening statement of the judge, unsupported by a 
tittle of evidence. 

So much for the criminal jurisprudence of the 
French ; of the very first principles of which they 
seem to be utterly ignorant. 

The golden maxim of the English law, which pre- 
sumes that every man is innocent till it has been 
proved that he is guilty, and which shields the ac- 
cused from the obligation of replying to any question 
lest he should criminate himself, has no influence in 
their criminal procedure. The prisoner, though not 
absolutely stretched upon the rack, is subjected to the 
terrible screw of cross-examination; and a most 
powerful engine it is for extracting the truth. But, it 
may sometimes confound the innocent, as well as 
convict the guilty. If indeed a prisoner be really 
innocent ; and if he have coolness and good sense 
enough to adhere strictly to the truth ; he may have 
nothing to fear from the legal inquisition of the 
French, — which is certainly well adapted for un- 
ravelling the intricacies of a complicated case. But* 



CRIMINAL PROCEDURE. 433 

as it is surely better that many guilty should escape 
rather than one innocent man should suffer, the spirit 
of the English system is infinitely preferable, in spite 
of the facilities it affords to the clever rascal of es- 
caping from justice. 



2F 



434 



CHAPTER XV. 

New Years-Day — Party Spirit — Mass for Louis 
XVI. — Missionaries — Law of Elections — Profes- 
sion of a Novice — Racine — French Drama — De- 
parture from Toulouse. 

January 1st, 1819. 1 HE weather for the last 
ten days has been bitterly cold ; the thermometer 
has been below the freezing point, with snow, and 
sleet, and fog. This is a day of great bustle in 
Prance. All the equipages in Toulouse are rattling 
about, leaving cards of congratulation ; for it would 
be a breach of politeness amongst acquaintance, not 
to exchange visits on this day. — New year's gifts 
seem more in vogue in France than in England. 

16th. The agitation 'of the public mind pro- 
duced by the late reports of changes in the ministry, 
seems at last to be tranquillized, by the appointment 
of M. de Cazes and his friends. The heat and irri- 
tation produced here by the rumour of the appoint- 
ment of an ultra-royalist ministry, which was believed 
for four-and-twenty hours, was excessive. The ultra- 
royalist party awaited the arrival of the next courier 
with the most intense anxiety ; and if it had brought 
a confirmation of their hopes, there is no saying 



PARTY SPIRIT. 435 

what outrages and excesses might not have been 
committed. The ultra-royalist party in the south of 
France is characterized by the spirit which mas- 
sacred the protestants at Nismes ; the green cockade 
is its ensign, and this party is more royalist than the 
king himself; who is regarded by them as an apostate 
from the old principles of the ancient regime. These 
then say, as the friends of our second Charles said, 
that Louis has interpreted the oubli and pardon of 
his brother's dying injunctions, into an act of amnesty 
to his enemies, and an act of oblivion of his friends. 
On the other hand, the anxiety of those who have be- 
nefited by the Revolution, — that is, the great mass of 
the people — was equally evident ; for they are taught 
to regard the appointment of an ultra-royalist minis- 
try, as synonymous with a re-establishment of the 
tithes of the clergy, and the feudal rights of the 
seigneur, and a resumption of all the property which 
has been purchased under edicts of confiscation^ 

This last is the tenderest point of all ; and it is 
certainly a hard case, that a man who was obliged 
either to fly his country or lose his head, should 
upon his return find his estate in the possession of one 
of his own servants ; who perhaps purchased it for 
almost nothing during the troubles of the Revo- 
lution. But this, it is to be feared, is one of those 
instances of injustice, which, by being committed 
and defended by numbers, is placed beyond the 
reach of punishment ; for it is impossible to " indict 

a F 2 



436 prefect's ball. — mass for louis xvi. 

a whole nation." The sentence of Fiat jastitia 
would be accompanied with a popular convulsion, 
equivalent to the mat caelum of the original maxim ; 
which however true in morals, will not always hold 
good in politics, of which expediency is the basis : 
and in which, I believe, we must be contented with 
what is practicable, when we cannot attain what is 
desirable. 

18th. Le PrefeVs ball. The Prefect who is con- 
sidered, like our Lord Lieutenant, as the represen- 
tative of the sovereign in the department over which 
he presides, keeps up a certain state, and amongst 
other entertainments gives a ball every Monday. The 
ball was but a shabby business ; — three fiddlers, and 
no supper. Cotillions and quadrilles are so soon 
over, and the ladies are pledged so many deep, that 
every French beau is armed with his pencil and 
tablets to record his engagements, which he claims 
by presenting his partner with a bouquet of flowers. 
There is a very striking contrast between the fashion 
of the English and French ladies' dress, in disposing 
the drapery of the neck ; and the advantage is for 
once so much on the side of the latter, in decorum 
and propriety, that I am surprised our country women 
are not shamed into an imitation of it. 

21st. Solemn service at the cathedral for the 
repose of the soul of Louis XVI. — The Prefect and 
the municipality, and the whole body of the profes- 
sors of the university, attended this mourning cere- 



MASS FOR LOUIS XVI. THEATRE. 437 

monial in grand costume. The church was hung 
with black, and the funeral anthem was beautiful. 

The king's will was read from the pulpit ; but, as 
far as it is possible to judge of the tone and senti- 
ment of a public assembly, it did not appear to me 
that the impression produced upon the multitude was 
such as the authors of the ceremony must have con- 
templated. It might have been different at the first 
celebration of the anniversary of his murder ; and 
perhaps it would have been better to have limited 
the mourning to one single occasion ; for such feelings 
must in their nature be transient, and in time pass 
away altogether. What for instance, can be more 
ridiculous, than the pretended mournful observance 
of the 30th of January in England ? By the way, 
it is rather a singular coincidence, that January was 
the month fatal alike to Louis and Charles, as May 
was the common month of the restoration of their 
successors ; — It will be for the Comte d'Artois to 
take care that the parallel between the families does 
not continue further. 

22d. In the evening to the theatre. The play 
was Edouard en Ecosse ; founded on the adventures 
of the Pretender in England, the work of M. Duval, 
who is fond of dramatising English story. The part 
of Charles Edward was admirably played by Beau- 
champ. His face and appearance, when he first comes 
in, pale and worn out with fatigue, presented a striking 
resemblance of Napoleon, The political allusions, with 



438 THEATRE. 

which the play abounds, were eagerly seized through- 
out, and applied to the Ex-Emperor.—" Je n'aifait 
que des ingrats" was long and loudly applauded. In 
the last act of the play, the air of " God save the 
King" was incidentally introduced ; which afforded the 
audience an opportunity of manifesting their feeling 
towards England, which they did not neglect, — and 
an universal hiss broke out. A pantomime followed, 
but a very faint imitation of the inimitable entertain- 
ment which is called by that name in England. The 
first dancer is Harlequin, without his wand or his 
tricks ; the first female dancer is Columbine ; and the 
unfortunate Pantaloon, in addition to his own part, is 
Clown also ; so that besides the kicks on the breeches 
which he receives in quality of the first character, he 
has also to endure the slaps of the face which fall to 
the lot of the second. His mock dance was excellent; 
and his animated sack, for he jumps into a sack and 
displays wonderful locomotive powers therein, was 
worthy of Grimaldi himself. 

February 1st. It is a subject of great complaint, 
that the time of the carnival should have been selected 
by the missionaries, who have lately made their ap- 
pearance at Toulouse, for the period of their visit; as 
their arrival and preaching have cast a gloom over the 
usual festivities of this season of the year. There is 
a sort of mystery in the institution and appointment 
of these peripatetic preachers, who traverse France 
from one end to the other, as if there were no local 



MISSIONARIES. 439 

clergy to provide for the religious instruction of 
their flocks. They preach twice a day, at the prin- 
cipal churches in the town ; and in order that this 
may not interfere with the labouring pursuits of the 
lower classes, the morning hour is as early as ^ve, and 
the evening as late as six o'clock. There seems to be 
a great craving after religion, at present, as if there 
were a re-action after the long reign of infidelity 
during the Revolution. The churches are filled long 
before the service begins, and the receipts at the rate 
of three sous a chair will amount to a considerable 
sum, if the zeal of the congregations should continue. 

The missionaries are represented in the most op- 
posite colours, by the two parties of the state ; if you 
listen to the royalists, they work nothing but good, 
and only excite the jealousy of the opposite party, 
because it is feared, that they will restore the tone of 
the public mind, and bring back the people to " fear 
God and honour the king ; " while the liberal party 
represent them as the preachers of fanaticism, and the 
promoters of domestic dissension. For myself I must 
say, that I have attended the missionary who preaches 
at the cathedral, and have heard the best and purest 
precepts of Christianity, enforced by very extraordi- 
nary eloquence ; but, a friend has told me that he 
heard at one of the minor churches, a sermon on the 
doctrine of transubstantiation, in which the missionary 
preacher related the following story, in confirmation 
of his doctrine. " There was a woman/' said he, 



440 MISSIONARIES. 

" who being in want of a decent attire to go to 
communion, went to a Jew to hire a dress ; and the 
Jew would only consent to let it, upon condition that 
she would bring him back a piece of the consecrated 
wafer. After much difficulty, his terms were granted. 
The Jew, as soon as he had got possession of the 
wafer, trampled it under his feet ; when, to his great 
surprise, he perceived drops of blood to issue from it. 
Astonished at this, he put it into a saucepan and boiled 
it upon the fire ; — when the surface of the water be- 
came covered with fat. This second miracle so 
wrought upon him, that he was convinced and con- 
verted, and forthwith became a Christian." If such 
is the mode of expounding the mysteries of Christi- 
anity, in the nineteenth century ; it is no wonder that 
the enlightened part of the nation condemn missions, 
and refuse to listen to missionaries. 

5th. In the evening to the theatre. M. Huet 
from the Opera Comique of Paris, drew a full house. 
He played Adolphe, and Jean de Paris, in the ori- 
ginals, from which Matrimony, and John of Paris, have 
been translated ; but I thought him very tame and 
insipid after the delightful spirited performance of 
Elliston in the same parts;— who is so happy in the 
combination of heart and feeling, with vivacity and 
whim and inimitable in the management of dry 
humour, and playful raillery. 

10th. The French seem to carry politics farther 
even than ourselves. Who ever heard in England of 



LAW OF ELECTIONS. 441 

inquiring the politics of an actor? Yet here, the 
arrival of M. Huet, who it seems is recognized as a 
staunch royalist, has been sufficient to throw the 
town of Nismes into a state of agitation. The 
royalist party made a point of attending the theatre 
to support their champion ; in the same party spirit 
which had been shewn by the opposite faction, upon 
a late visit of Talma; whose intimate friendship 
with the Ex-Emperor is well known. A spark is suf- 
ficient to kindle the flame of civil war between parties 
composed of such inflammable materials, and nothing 
but the prudence of the police prevented an explosion. 
March 16th. The coup d'etat of creating fifty 
new peers, has at last quieted the apprehension and 
anxiety, which had been occasioned by the success 
of the Marquis Barthelemy's motion in the Chamber 
of Peers. The object of the motion was, to con- 
sider the propriety of altering the law of elections ; 
and it was carried by a majority of thirty -four voices 
against the ministry. This new creation of peers, 
which amounts almost to a revolution in the govern- 
ment, ought to convince all parties of the king's 
sincerity and good faith ; and of his determination 
to oppose by any means the over-heated zeal of his 
own adherents. The friends of M. Barthelemy affect 
to consider the public alarm as unfounded and un- 
reasonable, since his motion was confined to a mere 
consideration of the propriety of making an alteration 
in the law. But it is surely not surprising that a 



442 FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

people just entering upon the enjoyment of political 
privileges, should be tremblingly alive to any at- 
tempt to tamper with a law which they are taught 
to consider as the great security of their rights. 
How for example- would the king feel, if a member 
of the Chamber of Deputies were to succeed in a 
motion for considering the propriety of making some 
alteration in the settlement of the crown? There 
are certain fundamental points, in all constitutions, 
which ought not, and cannot be made the subjects 
of debate, without disturbing the stability of the 
whole edifice. 

It is only necessary to consider what the French 
have gained by the Revolution, to sympathize with 
the alarm excited by any measure that seems to in- 
dicate a disposition to return to the principles of the 
ancient government. 

Liberty and equality was a cry peculiarly calcu- 
lated to produce an effect in France ; and however it 
might have been afterwards abused, its original im- 
port meant a liberation from the intolerable grievances 
of feudal oppression, and an abolition of the injurious 
privileges of the nobles ; — -who not only possessed 
an exclusive claim to all the honours and emoluments 
of the army and the church, but were also exempt 
from taxation ; and even in the article justice, were 
placed above the level of their inferiors ; for, there 
was one tribunal and one measure of justice for the 
high, and another for the low. 



FRENCH REVOLUTION. 443 

The direct power of the monarch was the least 
evil of which the French had to complain, and the 
rule of a single despot, in the person of Napoleon, 
must have seemed light to those, who remembered 
all the grievances of the ancien regime ; — namely, the 
partial and oppressive imposts of the taille and the 
corvee; and the capitaineries, by which a sort of 
free-warren was conferred over the lands of others, 
taking away the rights of the proprietors themselves, 
and vesting the game of a whole district — with the 
power of preserving deer and wild boars— in any 
single Nimrod whom the king might appoint. 

Last, and worst of all, were the feudal claims, 
and oppressive expedients — for an account of which 
see Arthur Young — by which the Seigneur might 
extort money from his vassals. But these and all 
the other sufferings of the people seem to be for- 
gotten by all but themselves; and nothing is now 
remembered of the French Revolution, but the crimes 
and excesses by which the cause of liberty was 
disgraced. 

This Revolution teaches indeed an awful lesson. 
But while we learn from it the dangers of popular 
excess, and the impossibility of effecting a beneficial 
reform, by the agency of the mob ; we shall derive 
but little profit from it, if it do not also teach us the 
necessity of accommodating the institutions of go- 
vernment to the progress of information, so that they 
may be always kept in unison with public opinion. 



444 PROFESSION OP A NOVICE. 

If such had been the conduct of the French govern- 
ment, we should never have heard of the Frencli 
Revolution. The rulers who refuse to make those 
alterations which the progress of the age demands, 
seem to act as imprudently as the debtor who neg- 
lects to pay the interest of his debt. It is true he 
may delay paying any thing for a certain time, but in 
the mean time the arrears go on accumulating at 
compound interest, and when the day of reckoning 
does come, as come it must, sooner or later, it comes 
with a vengeance, and brings ruin along with it. 
Those who have the direction of the machine of go- 
vernment, would do well to watch the signs of the 
times, and by a regular payment of the claims of 
society, maintain a constant good understanding be- 
tween debtor and creditor ; — for this is the sort of 
relation in which the government and the people 
seem to stand towards each other. 

March 25th. The annunciation. Attended the 
ceremony of professing a novice, in the chapel of 
the Benedictine Convent. The victim was a young 
and pretty girl, who had been on the point of 
marriage, for which the preparations had been made, 
and the day fixed. The destined bride however 
suddenly changed her mind, without any assignable 
reason ; and, in spite of the entreaties of her friends, 
resolved to renounce the world ; and, according to 
the French phrase, epouser le bon Dieic. She was 
arrayed in a superb dress of satin, with a pro~ 



PROFESSION OF A NOVICE. 445 

fusion of lace, and wore a wreath of flowers upon 
her head. 

The service was long and tedious. After receiving 
the communion, and hearing a sermon particularly 
addressed to her, which was dull and unfeeling be- 
yond belief, the ceremony began. She was asked, 
in the face of the congregation, whether it was from 
her own sincere and unbiassed inclination, that she 
sought the seclusion of a convent ; and having an- 
swered in the affirmative, the cierge and crucifix were 
delivered to her. She was then led out of the chapel 
by her two bride-maids, and re-appeared within the 
grate of the convent. Here her hair was cut off; 
and quitting her worldly dress and worldly orna- 
ments, she was invested with the coarse uniform of 
the order to which she was to belong. The novice 
then gave the kiss of peace all round to the sisters 
of the convent, and the ceremony concluded. At 
the expiration of a year, she repeats her vows and 
takes the black veil ; it is then that the convent be- 
comes her tomb ; and, being considered as dead to 
the world, she is wrapped in a black shroud, and the 
funeral service is performed over her. The father 
of the novice attended the ceremony, and seemed to 
be overwhelmed with affliction. It was a melancholy 
scene ; but less affecting than it would have been, if 
the profession of vows were now, as in former times, 
an irrevocable sentence of perpetual seclusion. This 
is no longer the case ; for, as the law at present 



446 MISSIONARIES. 

stands, no vows are binding for more than a year ; 
so that if a nun, availing herself of the privilege 
of her sex, should think fit to change her mind, 
she may have her cage-door opened, and return to 
the world. 

27th. There was an intention of concluding the 
mission to Toulouse by a grand ceremony, and pro- 
cession ; in which the missionaries were to have walk- 
ed barefoot, and a cross was to have been planted in 
one of the squares of the town ; but it has been pre- 
vented by the interference of the police, and post- 
poned sine die. It is difficult to form a judgment of 
the general effect of these missions, from the opposite 
representations of their friends and enemies. The 
only fact that has come under my own knowledge, 
speaks in their favour. As we were sitting at dinner 
one day, the host of my pension was called out to 
speak to a young woman, who desired particularly to 
see him alone. Upon his return, he recounted his in- 
terview to us. It seems, that the woman had formerly 
lived in his service, and the object of her visit was, to 
confess to him sundry petty acts of theft, and to make 
him restitution of their amount. This, she said, she 
was led to do, from the representations of one of the 
missionaries, to whom she had confessed, and who had 
convinced her that repentance and absolution were of 
no avail, unless founded upon sincere resolutions of 
amendment ; and that the best pledge of future good 
conduct would be, the atonement and reparation of 



RACINE. 447 

past sins, as far as it could be done. My kind-hearted 
host forgave his contrite domestic, and she had all 
the merit of good intention, without making any pe- 
cuniary sacrifice. 

30th. Finished a course of Racine. The delinea- 
tion of female characters seems to be his forte. Phedre, 
Hermione, Agrippine, and Clytemnestre, are I think 
master-pieces in their way. All the faults of Racine 
must be attributed to the taste of his age and nation ; 
and considering the tight stays in which the tragic 
muse is confined upon the French stage, Racine has 
done wonders. His heroes to be sure, whether taken 
from Greek or Roman story, are all Frenchmen. 
This is the common fault of all the French tragic 
writers ; and it is exquisitely ridiculed by Grimm. 
" Le celebre Hogarth, connu par le genie et l'esprit 
de ses compositions, a ecrit un ceuvrage sur le beau, 
rempli d'idees extraordinaires. On y voit entre autres 
une estampe ou un maitre de danse Francais est vis- 
a-vis la belle statue Antinoiis ; il s'occupe a lui relever 
la tete, a lui effacer les epaules, a lui placer les bras 
et les jambes, a la transformer, en un mot, en petit 
maitre 616gant et agreable : cette satire est aussi fine 
qu'originale. Je doute cependant que notre celebre 
Marcel eut touche a la contenance d' Antinoiis ; mais 
mettez a la place d' Antinoiis la statue de Melpomene 
l'Athenienne, et nommez les maitres de danse Cor- 
neille et Racine, et le symbole ne s'ecartera pas trop 
de la verite." 



448 RACINE. 

His heroines are less national, the reason of which 
perhaps may be, that there is less national distinction 
amongst women, who have, as Pope has said, " no 
characters at all ;" a remark, which, though Pope 
meant it for satire, need not I think offend the sex ; 
on the contrary, it is, perhaps, the highest merit in a 
woman, that she is without those strongly marked 
peculiarities which constitute what is called charac- 
ter in man ; — for in her, to he prominent is to be 
offensive ; and her most engaging qualities are of that 
unobtrusive kind, which belong rather to the sex than 
to the individual. 

Racine's women are the women of high life. We 
must not look for the charming effusions of natural 
feeling which Shakspeare has given, in Juliet, Imo- 
gen, Cordelia, and the divine Desdemona. Such 
characters as these the French poet had not the head 
to conceive ; nor if he had, would a French audience 
have the heart to feel their beauty; but Racine has 
given most powerful and affecting delineations of the 
frailties and passions of the factitious beings amongst 
whom his scene is laid. It is to the distresses of 
such beings that the sympathy of a French audience 
seems confined. It would appear as if there were 
only a royal road to their hearts, for the idea of a 
tragedie bourgeoise is to them ridiculous ; and not 
satisfied with confining tragedy to the great, they 
have also prescribed such rigorous rules of bienseance, 
that all the mighty play of the passions, which form 



FRENCH DRAMA. 449 

form the elements of tragedy, are limited in their ex- 
pression by the arbitrary laws of poetic diction, and 
the strict modes of politeness, as they happened to 
exist in the time of Louis XIV. 

Grimm, in his correspondence, has pointed out 
with great discrimination the defects of French 
tragedy; but a few sentences of Rousseau compre- 
hend the substance of all that can be said on the 
subject. 

" Communement tout se passe en beaux dia- 
logues, bien agencies, bien ronflans, ou Ton voit 
d'abord que le premier soin de chaque interlocuteur, 
est toujours celui de briller. Presque tout s'^nonce 
en maximes generates. Quelques agites qu'ils puis- 
sent etre, ils songent toujours plus an public qu'a 
eux-m&mes. 

Il-y-a encore une certaine dignite" mani^ree dans 
le geste et dans le propos, qui ne permet jamais a 
la passion de parler exactement son langage, ni a 
Tauteur de revetir son personnage, et de se transporter 
au lieu de la scene." 

We English contend that Shakspeare is the re- 
verse of all this ; that his plays, instead of being 
poetical descriptions, wee genuine expressions of the 
passions ; that his characters do not talk like poets, 
but like men ; that he has the faculty which Rousseau 
says the French poets want ; and that he does, to use 
SchlegePs illustration, after the manner of a ven- 
triloquist, transport his imagination out of himself, 

2G 



450 FRENCH DRAMA, 

and successively animate every personage of his 
scene ; that his characters speak in the very language 
in which their living prototypes might be supposed 
to have spoken ; so that in fact it appears as if he 
had stood by an eye-witness of the scenes he de- 
scribes, and had taken o!own in writing what actually 
passed between the parties ; that instead of the cold 
generalities which are bandied about by the " in- 
tellectual gladiators" of the French stage, there is an 
individuality in Shakspeare's characters which gives 
to his scenes almost the effect of reality, and makes 
us regard the actors in them rather as real personages, 
than as the mere fictions of his imagination. 

It is thus that we praise Shakspeare, — and for 
the most part justly ; though perhaps we may over 
do it a little. If the French have too much bien- 
seance, Shakspeare had too little ; and it may be 
doubted whether Johnson was not right, when he 
boldly said, that no one of his plays, if now pro- 
duced as the work of a living author, would be heard 
to a conclusion; but, his faults are as " dew-drops 
on the lion's mane," and may be easily shaken off. 

Again; — when we challenge for him so peremp- 
torily and exclusively the claim of the poet of na- 
ture; — is he always natural? Does he never make 
his characters speak rather like poets, than like men ? 

The language of highly-excited passion will often 
rise into poetry ; and I will not question the pro- 
priety of the figurative imagery in which he delights 



FRENCH DRAMA. 451 

to clothe the effusions of grief and despair. But, to 
give one instance out of many, let us turn to the 
dagger scene of Macbeth. The air-drawn dagger is 
a grand conception, and the execution is a mighty 
proof of the genius of Shakspeare. The scene is 
awfully sublime, — yet, verging as . it does on the 
border of extravagance, in any other hands it would 
probably have been ridiculous ; but, what shall we 
say to the description of night, which follows ? As a 
Poet's description of night, admirably adapted to the 
circumstances of the scene, it is excellent, and in 
a descriptive poem it would be strictly in place ; but, 
what is the condition of Macbeth's mind ? 

Is it natural that his imagination should be at 
leisure to furnish the terrible accompaniments of a 
murderer's night, which are there enumerated with 
a somewhat laboured detail? To shew how a 
Frenchman's mind is impressed by Shakspeare, let 
me record the sentiments of my friend Mons. B. C, 
to whom I gave this scene to read aloud, as a 
sample of Shakspeare's best manner. He read the 
dagger speech with great admiration, and though 
a little shocked at the coarseness of Lady Macbeth's 
language, while she is waiting for the re-appear- 
ance of her husband, he went on very well till he 
came to, 

" I heard the Owl scream and the Cricket cry." — 

The cricket was too much for his risible nerves ; — 
here he threw down the book, and fairly laughed out. 

2G2 



452 FRENCH DRAMA. 

He considered the introduction of so ignoble an 
image, as a high misdemeanor against the gorgeous 
dignity of tragedy, to say nothing of the absurdity 
of allowing Lady Macbeth to have leisure to listen 
to it. What would he have said to " not a mouse 
stirring ?" The whole scene that follows, which I 
have always thought at once so natural and so 
terrible, he considered as utterly out of nature, and 
childishly ridiculous. 

Figurez-vous, said he, an ambitious chieftain, who 
has, under the impulse of that passion, conceived and 
perpetrated the murder of his sovereign ; yet, — in the 
very moment of its accomplishment, instead of being 
engrossed with those aspiring thoughts and antici- 
pations natural to his situation, he has no better 
employment than to entertain his wife with the 
conversation and cries of the drunken domestics, 
who had been disturbed from their sleep by his pro- 
ceedings. 

" One cried God bless us ! and Amen ! the other." 

was to his ears the very acme of the ridiculous. 

Such was the impression made upon an intelligent 
Frenchman, who understood English very well, by 
one of the finest scenes in Shakspeare. Racine would 
certainly have managed the whole business very dif- 
ferently. It would have been much less terrible, but 
much more polite and well-bred ; and Monsieur and 
Madame Macbeth, would have rhymed it away 



FRENCH DRAMA. 453 

through some scores of fine verses. Racine however 
is full of beauties, and, though he sinks into insigni- 
ficance when compared with Shakspeare, may perhaps 
challenge a comparison with any other English tragic 
writer, excepting Otway. 

His knowledge of human nature too is consider- 
able ; though it is not the knowledge of Shakspeare, 
who was profoundly intimate with the heart of man, 
in all its passions and affections, as it exists in all 
times and all countries, and who painted with the 
nicest discrimination all tempers and dispositions ; — 
the gay and the joyous — the generous and the gallant 
—the serious and the sorrowful — the moody and the 
mad — the drunken and the desperate. The know- 
ledge of Racine is more like that which has been 
displayed by Pope, and seems to be confined to 
factitious nature ; but this is beautifully and faithfully 
delineated. His distress is often very afFecting ; and 
when the heart is not affected, the mind may gene- 
rally find amusement and instruction in the beauty 
of his verses and the force of his reasoning. 

Though we generally begin by preferring Voltaire's 
tragedies, the beauties of which are more showy, 
Racine will in the end establish his superiority. 
Racine seems to have been fitted for the strict rules 
of the French drama, and he writes con amort. 
Voltaire who understood English, had a taste for 
something better. Though he abuses Shakspeare, 
he was not above stealing from him very copiously ; 



454 FRENCH DRAMA. 

and then, as Steevens wittily remarked, like a mid- 
night thief, he sets fire to the house he has robbed, 
in the hope of preventing the detection of his guilt. 

There is something in Voltaire's tragedies which 
seems to show that his genius was embarrassed by 
the cramp and confinement of the French literary 
laws ; of which indeed he himself complains : — 

" Je regrettais cette heureuse liberty que vous 
avez d'ecrire vos tragedies en vers non rimes ;" though 
he maintains elsewhere that rhyme is absolutely ne- 
cessary to the French verse, and gives, by way of 
example and proof, a very fine passage, which, by 
being stripped of these appendages, loses all its 
pretensions to poetry. If this be so, what more 
severe could be urged in the way of sarcasm against 
French poetry ? for in fact, it amounts to this, — that 
there is so little of the soul and spirit of poetry in 
their writers, that poetry would be converted into 
prose by Porson's receipt of removing the final syl- 
lable of each line. 

Voltaire is the last man who ought to have depre- 
ciated Shakspeare ; for if his Zaire be superior in 
animation and energy to his other tragedies, the 
superiority will be due to Shakspeare, from whose 
fire he has caught a few sparks. But his thefts are 
not always turned to so good account. He sometimes 
meddles with materials beyond his strength. The 
bow of Ulysses would have been of no use to a vul- 
gar thief. The Ghost of Hamlet's Father, under 



FRENCH DRAMA. 4<55 

Shakspeare's management, is awful, and sublime ; 
but his counterpart in Semiramis is almost ridiculous. 

The question of the unities — so differently treated 
in the theatres of the two nations — has been nearly 
set at rest by Johnson, in his admirable preface to 
Shakspeare. None will deny the necessity of unity 
of action ; and the unity of time cannot obviously 
admit of much latitude of interpretation, without 
violating probability, and destroying the closeness of 
imitation, upon which much of the merit of a dra- 
matic piece depends. The French contend, that 
their rigid adherence to the unity of place rests 
upon the same ground of closeness of imitation ; — 
but it is evident that this is founded upon a mistaken 
idea of illusion. 

For the fact is, that the imitation is not at all 
closer by the preservation of this unity, — but the 
contrary. For instance, would not the imagination 
of the spectator be more easily reconciled to occa- 
sional shifting of the scene, in the tragedy of Cato, 
than to the monstrous absurdity of bringing all sorts 
of people, on all sorts of errands, to talk of love, 
and treason, in the same public hall ? The only effect 
of this practice has been, to change the drama — from 
a representation of an action — into a series of con- 
versations. The difference, says Grimm, between 
the English and French stage is ; that, in England, 
" On fait courir le spectateur aprfo les folnemens ; in 
France, ce sont les evenemens qui courent apres les 



4*56 FRENCH DRAMA. 

spectateurs" In this, as in most other instances, 
the truth will lie somewhere between the two ex- 
tremes. Change of scene may surely take place 
without any violation of the illusion, if there be no 
objection on the score of time ; — and, with all due 
deference to Dr. Johnson, it is rather the intervention 
of time, than the change of place, that ought to sepa- 
rate one act from another ; — and this, however small, 
should always make a pause in the drama. 

If there could exist any real doubt of the dramatic 
superiority of the English muse, what strong proof 
might be adduced from the practice of the French 
actors themselves ! Why is it that Talma prefers 
Hamlet and Manlius, to Orestes and Ninias, and 
other characters of the same kind, which are con- 
fessedly the chef d'osuvres of the French theatre ; 
while Hamlet and Manlius are poor imitations of 
our own Hamlet and Pierre ? Is it not that Talma 
has studied these characters in their native language, 
and contrived to impart to the cold copy some 
portion of the life and spirit of the divine originals ? 
But more of French acting hereafter. 

31st. Bancal, the woman concerned in the mur- 
der of Fualdes, was brought before the court of 
assize, to hear her pardon read. When this was 
over, she was exhibited as a spectacle to the gentle- 
folks of the town, French and English. 

She conversed on the subject of the murder, and 
persisted in maintaining the guilt of Yence, and 



DEPARTURE FROM TOULOUSE. 457 

Bessiere Veysac, who were lately rescued from the 
hands of justice by a host of perjuries. 

Packing up ; — this is the melancholy part of a 
traveller's life — to arrive and hear no welcome — to 
depart and hear no farewell — or if he remain sta- 
tionary for a time, to be called away just as he 
is beginning to form new connexions. 

Farewell visits ; — to Dr. Thomas, from whose 
medical skill, and friendly attentions, my health has 
derived the greatest benefit; — and to Mr. Kemble, 
to whom I have been indebted for many pleasant 
evenings of social intercourse. It is delightful to 
see the father of the English stage enjoying the 
evening of life in the tranquillity of literary leisure ; 
a man to whose public exertions we have all been 
indebted for the highest intellectual gratification; 
who, by the charm of his art, has become so iden- 
tified in our imaginations with the ideal characters 
of Shakspeare, that those who have seen him can 
scarcely think of Macbeth — King John — Wolsey — 
Hotspur — Brutus — or Coriolanus, without embodying 
them in the form and features of — John Philip 
Kemble. 



4,58 



CHAPTER XV I. 



Voyage down the Garonne — Bourdeaux — Tlieatre — 
Talma — French Wines — Journey to Paris — Tours 
— Scenery of the Loire — State of Society in France 
— Law of Inheritance — Orleans — Versailles. 

April 1st. V OYAGE clown the Garonne to 
Bourdeaux. — The length of this voyage depends 
entirely upon the state of the river. During floods 
it may be done in two days ; but the ordinary time 
required is four. There is little in the scenery of 
the banks to demand notice. In so long a course, 
it is impossible that there should not be a few pic- 
turesque spots, but there are very few. It is but a 
comfortless voyage ; — there is no regular passage- 
boat, and the only vessels are small flat-bottomed 
barges, without any deck, or other protection from 
the weather, than such a tent as you may be able to 
construct. Again — if the water be low, you are 
constantly liable to get a-ground ; and it can never 
be a matter of certainty where you may halt for the 
night. Still, if the weather is fine, it is well enough. 
There is a sort of mill for grinding corn in use on 
the Garronne, which might perhaps be introduced 



BOURDEAUX. 459 

with advantage on our own rivers. It is a simple 
wooden structure, containing also the miller's house, 
built upon a solid flat-bottomed boat, which is moored 
on the stream by means of strong iron chains. The 
streams are very rapid, and the Garonne is subject to 
sudden and violent floods ; nevertheless, these mills 
stand their ground ; and there is scarcely a stream 
in the river without one between Toulouse and Bour- 
deaux. 

There are some fine points of view ; particularly at 
the embouchure of the Lot, where you command a 
prospect of the town and chateau of Aiguillon ; and 
again at La Reole, where there is an ancient Bene- 
dictine convent, of late turned into the residence of 
the Prefect, which, with the surrounding scenery, 
forms a beautiful picture. But these points are of 
rare occurrence. It was not till the evening of the 
fifth day that we arrived within sight of Bourdeaux. 
The character of the scenery improves as you de- 
scend the river, and the approach to Bourdeaux is 
magnificent. I doubt whether it be not equal to 
Lisbon ; the river, which is rather an arm of the sea, 
is nearly as broad again as the Thames at London. 
It takes a bend at this point, and the town and the 
quays form a splendid crescent on the left bank, the 
whole circuit of which is taken in at one coup d'osil, 
while the opposite bank is rich with woods, and 
vineyards, and villas. The piers of a stone bridge 
are finished ; and the superstructure will soon be 



460 BOURDEAUX. 

completed, which will form a magnificent feature 
in the prospect. The execution of this project, 
the possibility of which was long contested, is a 
splendid proof of the genius and ability of the archi- 
tect. 

Such is the approach to Bourdeaux. The town 
itself will be by far the handsomest town in France, if 
the new buildings in the faubourg of Chartron are 
carried on upon the scale which is at present designed. 
The Chapeau-Rouge is already, as far as it goes, one 
of the finest streets in Europe. Here is the theatre, 
the facade of which is a model of architectural beauty ; 
and the bottom of the street terminates in the ex- 
change, the quay, the river, and the shipping. Vessels 
of any size can come up to Bourdeaux ; a frigate and 
two brigs have been lately built for Ferdinand of 
Spain, and are now fitting out for the grand expedi- 
tion to South America. 

10th. Every thing at Bourdeaux is on a grand 
scale ; the promenades are beautiful, and the public 
buildings are numerous and splendid. The cathedral, 
as is the case with many of the handsomest Gothic 
buildings in France, was the work of the English, 
during the time they occupied this country as masters. 
The price of lodging and provisions is something 
dearer here than at Toulouse. The ordinary price of 
a, pension at Bourdeaux, including board and lodging, 
is eight francs per day. 

17th. Attended the theatre — which is splendid. 



TALMA. 461 

The boxes project like hanging balconies, in a manner 
that I have seen no where else, which brings out the 
company as it were in alto relievo, and gives a very 
pleasing effect. Talma played Nero, in the Britanni- 
cus of Racine. The part is not a very prominent one, 
but he made the most of it. 

His style of acting is more like Kean's, than any 
other of our actors ; that is, he deals in electric 
shocks, which come flashing through the sublimity of 
the storm. His concluding words " Narcisse ! — 
suives moi!" were given with tremendous effect. 
His voice is magnificent, though perhaps none of his 
cadences are superior to the quiet low tones of Kean, 
when he is in his saddest mood, as in parts of Othello, 
and Hamlet. Upon the whole, I was much delighted. 
He is a great actor, — in spite of the French tragedy. 
He does all he can to bring it down to nature ; and it 
is a proof of the charm of nature, to witness the effect 
which his delivery of the text produces, relieved as it 
is by occasional touches of nature and feeling, when 
compared with the tedious and tiresome uniformity of 
that declamatory recitative, which is the general 
practice of the French stage. But great taste and 
discretion are necessary in the introduction and 
management of this familiar tone, which certainly may 
be carried too far — for nothing is worse than the 
affectation of being natural. Hear Voltaire on this 
subject: — " On s'est pique* de reciter des vers comme 
de la prose ; on n'a pas consid^re qu'un langage 



462 TALMA. 

au-dessus du langage ordinaire, doit &tre d6bit6 d'un 
ton au-dessus du ton familiar." 

19th. Saw Talma again in Oreste, in the Andro- 
maque of Racine. He has in an extraordinary manner 
the faculty of altering his appearance, and one could 
scarcely recognise him as the same person who had 
played Nero, till he spoke; but his voice is not to be 
mistaken, — it is divine, and possesses every variety of 
expression; — his whisper is wonderfully impressive. 
There is something unhappy in the contour of his 
countenance. A thick double chin encumbers his 
physiognomy, and injures its expression, when the 
features are at rest ; but, when his face is agitated by 
the tempest and whirlwind of the passions, or, when 
all expression is as it were annihilated by the wild 
vacancy of despair, the effect is overwhelming. His 
action is overdone to an English taste ; the constant 
shaking of the arms, and then slapping them violently 
against the thighs, has something ridiculously vehe- 
ment in it to us ; but those modes of expression are 
different in different countries, and it would be pre- 
judice to assume our own as the standard of propriety. 
Still, till you are habituated to this gesticulation, it 
looks like tearing a passion to tatters, and has some- 
thing of the effect of burlesque. His management of 
soliloquy is admirable. It is just what it ought to 
be, — thinking aloud. 

It is impossible to conceive any thing more awfully 
terrible, than his mad scene in the fifth act. Raving 



TALMA. 463 

madness is generally disgusting on the stage ; shock- 
ing the feelings by an exhibition of frightful bodily 
writings, and nothing more, — " the contortions of the 
Sibyl without her inspiration." But, there is a dread- 
ful reality in Talma's fury ; and the ghastly changes 
which affect his features seem to arise from the 
internal agonies of his soul. He made the blood run 
cold, and one might have fancied it was indeed 
Orestes furiis agitatus, the victim of divine ven- 
geance, that was on the scene. 

Though Talma is very fond of contrast, and puts 
forth his whole strength in particular passages, which 
resemble Kean's bursts of passion ; yet, he is also 
more attentive to the general effect of the character 
than our own actors are. From the moment of his 
entrance he seems to forget that he is Talma. No 
look or motion ever escapes him that betrays a con- 
sciousness that he is acting to an audience. This 
complete identification with his part is the great 
charm of his style. Nothing destroys this identity 
more, than the appearance of any consciousness of the 
presence of an audience, on the part of an actor. Yet, 
on our own stage the illusion is dispelled, at his very 
first entrance, by the acknowledgments which custom 
compels him to make to the plaudits of the specta- 
tors ; — a frightful solecism in our theatrical practice, 
which we should do well to reform, from the example 
of our neighbours. 

24th. Voyage in the steam-boat to Pavillac, ten 



464 FRENCH WINES. 

leagues down the river. The banks are tame and 
uninteresting. At the junction of the Dordogne and 
the Garonne, the confluence takes place in such a 
manner that it is difficult to say which river it is that 
runs into the other ; and their magnitude is nearly 
the same. Hence, it is said, arose a great contro- 
versy between the partizans of the Garonne and the 
Dordogne, which of the two should give its name to 
the united stream. This was at last decided by the 
adoption of La Gironde, the name of the territory 
common to both rivers. 

House rent in the neighbourhood of Bourdeaux is 
low enough ; a ready furnished house, containing every 
suitable accommodation for a small family, with five 
acres of vineyard yielding fruit enough to make a 
considerable quantity of wine, was offered me to-day 
for 500 francs per annum ; and there was a peasant 
residing on the estate, who for half the produce would 
have undertaken the care and management of the 
whole. 

It is more difficult to buy claret of the best quality 
at Bourdeaux than in London. The fact is, that all 
the produce of the vineyards is in the hands of a few 
merchants ; and it would scarcely answer their pur- 
pose to sell the very best quality, unadulterated, at 
any price, — necessary as it is to them to leaven their 
whole stock. For, the increasing demand for the 
wines of Bordeaux, occasioned by the growing con- 
sumption of Russia and the East Indies, augments the 



FRENCH WINES. 465 

proportion of inferior wine which is mixed up in the 
general mass. The common wine of the pays dt 
Medoc — whence by the way comes our cherry whose 
name we have corrupted into May Duke — is light, and 
pleasant, and may be bought for about ten pence a 
bottle ; but it has little resemblance to our English 
claret, which derives its peculiar flavour from being 
seasoned with a mixture of a strong wine of Bur- 
gundy. 

One of the best wines of the south of France is the 
wine of Cahors, which is rich and strong, and well 
calculated to please the English taste ; but unfortu- 
nately the system of commerce which we have so 
long acted upon, has transferred the wine trade to 
Portugal, where we buy worse liquor at a higher 
price. " There are few Englishmen — said Hume 
eighty years ago — who would not think their country 
absolutely ruined, were French wines sold in England 
so cheap and in such abundance, as to supplant in some 
measure all ale and home-brewed liquors. But, would 
we lay aside prejudice, it would not be difficult to 
prove that nothing could be more innocent, perhaps 
advantageous." The misfortune is, that now, when 
the true principles of commerce are generally under- 
stood and acknowledged, it is difficult to introduce 
them into practice, on account of the long establish- 
ment of the old system of restraints and prohibitions ; 
the effect of which has been well described by Hume 
—as serving no purpose but to check industry, and 

2 H 



4<66 TALMA. 

to rob ourselves and our neighbours of the common 
benefits of art and nature. 

May 1st. Talma's Hamlet is a chef d'ceuvre ; — 
in his hands it is the most affecting picture of filial 
piety that can be imagined. His power of expressing 
grief is beyond every thing I ever witnessed on the 
stage, or in real life. As Hamlet, there is an ap- 
pearance of concentrated sorrow impressed upon his 
features and figure, which never leaves him from 
beginning to end. He is — like the Niobe of whom 
his prototype speaks — " all tears" — to the utter exclu- 
sion of that " antic disposition," which the English 
Hamlet assumes, to the prejudice perhaps of our 
sympathy with his sorrows. The other alterations are 
chiefly these ; Ducis makes Ophelie the daughter of 
Claudius, who is not brother to the murdered king, 
but only premier Prince du Sang ; and this certainly 
heightens the embarras of the French Hamlet, who is 
as much in love with Ophelie as the English ; — 

Immoler Claudius, — punir cet inhumain, 

C'est plonger a sa fille un poignard dans le sein ; 

C'est la tuer moi-meme ! 

The madness and death of Ophelie are also avoided. 
The lovers however quarrel violently ; the lady being 
determined to save her father, and Hamlet equally 
bent upon his destruction. Then for Gertrude,— she 
does not marry Claudius ; the infidelity has preceded 
the murder of the king, and she is thenceforward all 
penitence and horror. The Hamlet of Ducis too is 



TALMA. 467 

fonder of his mother than the Hamlet of Shakspeare ; 
and the French hobgoblin is a much bloodier fellow 
than the English ghost: — he insists upon it that 
Hamlet shall not only speak daggers, but use them 
also ; and his bloody commission extends to the 
punishment of both the guilty parties. It is in vain 
however that Hamlet attempts the assassination of his 
mother, — his hand and heart fail him; — ultimately 
however she saves him the trouble, and the Spirit is 
appeased and satisfied. The stage effect of the 
invisible speechless spectre of Ducis — which is seen 
only in the expressive eye of Talma — is certainly su- 
perior to the " too solid flesh" of the " honest ghost" 
of Shakspeare. The moment the English ghost en- 
ters with his " martial stalk," — the illusion is over. 
But perhaps the finest part of the French play is the 
scene where Hamlet relates to his friend Norceste 
his interview with his father's spirit; — this is the 
tie plus ultra of acting. Instead of Shakspeare's 
expedient of the play " to catch the conscience" of 
the guilty parties, Hamlet causes Norceste to announce 
to them, as news from England, a similar story of 
treason and murder, perpetrated there. 

Ducis makes tho conscience of Claudius immove- 
able ; " il vl est point trouble " exclaims Norceste in 
doubt ; " Non ! replies Hamlet, " No?i ! — mats re- 
garde ma mire /" the effect of these words as de~ 
livered by Talma was truly astonishing. At the end 
of the play, the hostile approach of Claudius is 

2H 2 



468 TALMA, 

announced to Hamlet, while he is engaged in a most 
affecting eclair xissement with his mother: he starts 
up, exclaiming, — Lui! cemonstre! — qu'il vienne! — 
and then, after a pause, and a long start, a. la Kean ; 
— Qu'il vienne ! je I "attends ! — ma vengeance est cer- 
taine ! 

This burst— qu'il vienne ! je P attends ! is perhaps 
the most electrifying thing on any stage ; — and then 
the voice of Talma! — non hominem sonat! There is 
a supernatural impressiveness about it, that affects 
the soul in the most awful manner, while it can melt 
in a moment into tones of the truest and most touch- 
ing pathos. Talma stands alone upon the French 
stage, with no rival near the throne, at an im- 
measurable elevation above all competitors. It is a 
common, and I believe, in general a just notion, that 
actors are stimulated by mutual excellence, and play 
better for being " acted up to," — as the phrase is. But 
though this may be true of the superior actor in rela- 
tion to the inferior, I doubt whether it be ever true 
vice versa ; and it is easy to perceive that the powers 
of the inferior actors are paralyzed as they approach 
the " intolerable day" which Talma sheds around 
him, and " 'gin to pale their ineffectual fire." 

In a word Talma's Hamlet is " the thing itself;" 
and may be classed with the Coriolanus of Kemble — 
the Queen Catherine of Siddons — the Othello of 
Kean ; and though last not least— the Sir Pertinax 
Macsycophant of Cooke. 



LEAVE BOURDEAl/X FOR PARIS. 469 

May 6th. Left Bourdeaux in a Voiturier's car- 
riage, in which we had not proceeded far before 
we discovered that one of the mules had almost the 
agility of Tickle-Toby's mare in curvetting with her 
heels, and that our driver was a provencal brute, of 
the true Marseillois breed ; — much more vicious and 
headstrong than the beast he drove. 

There is little in the route from Bourdeaux to 
Tours, to make one wish to linger on the w T ay ; and 
I had often occasion to wish that I had adopted a 
more rapid conveyance. The public walk at Angou- 
leme commands a fine prospect ; and the view from 
Poitiers is superb, independently of the historical 
recollections which make it interesting to an Eng- 
lishman. Every town of France seems to have its 
promenade. The public walk at Poitiers is delightful ; 
and its situation on a lofty height affords facilities, 
which have not been neglected, in laying it out to 
the best advantage. 

On the sixth day of our journey we made a halt 
at Ormes, in order to see the chateau of M. d'Ar- 
genson. This is the only chateau I have seen in 
France that can bear any comparison with the 
country residence of an English nobleman. It is 
situated on the bank of the Vienne ; and the disposi- 
tion and laying out of the ground, from the back of 
the house to the river, which is within 200 yards, is 
in the true style of English gardening ; — and I could 
have almost fancied myself on the banks of my own 
native Wye. 



470 



TOURS. 



12th. We this morning reached Tours, chiefly 
remarkable for a very handsome well-built street, 
which is a rarity in France. The view from the hill 
before you arrive at Tours commands the greater 
part of the Tourraine. The character of the scenery 
is made up of that calm kind of beauty consistent 
with fertility, without any pretensions to the grand 
or the romantic. 

Soon after leaving Tours, our kicking mule had 
nearly played us a jade's trick. The road lies on 
the bank of the Loire, under a range of rocks on one 
side, and with a shelving steep descending to the river 
on the other ; from which the road is protected by a 
low wall. Our mule, being on the side furthest from 
the river, seemed to think this a favourable oppor- 
tunity for venting its malice ; and after a desperate 
effort, succeeded in forcing its companion over the 
wall. Our situation was one of great danger; for the 
struggles of the poor animal, who remained suspended 
in the air by the harness, nearly dragged carriage and 
all over together. We succeeded however in cutting 
the traces, and the beast, thus set free, rolled down 
the steep without suffering any material injury ; — and 
here we left our voiturier and his mule to settle their 
affairs as they pleased. We might have had some 
difficulty in arranging our own affairs with him, but 
for that ready assistance which the law affords to every 
one who wants its aid in France. The mayors are 
invested with powers which have a much wider range 
than those of our own magistrates ; and in all petty 



AMBOISE. 



471 



disagreements, you may at once summon your ad- 
versary, and have an immediate and summary decision 
of the matter in dispute. This, to travellers at least, 
is a very great comfort, for to them, a delay of justice 
would amount to a refusal. 

13th. At Amboise there is a castle, the prin- 
cipal curiosity of which is a tower, by which they 
say the king used to ascend into the castle in his 
carriage. Here are the horns of a stag, eight feet 
long ; and there is a joint of the same animal's neck, 
as large round as a man's body. This stag, whose 
horns are, if I remember rightly, still larger than those 
in Warwick Castle, is said to have been killed in the 
time of Charles VIII. The chateau of Chanteloup 
ought to be seen, as affording a superb specimen of the 
wretchedness of French taste. There is however an 
artificial rock there, which, if it were not crowned 
with a Chinese temple, would be worthy of an English 
garden. 

It is impossible not to be disappointed with the 
boasted scenery of the Loire. The road and the 
river as far as Blois are well enough; and the 
views are occasionally very striking ; but, after you 
leave Blois, nothing can well be more uninterest- 
ing. 

The peasantry too do not realize the pictures 
which the imagination would draw of the " festive 
choir," whom Goldsmith describes as having led 
" With tuneless pipe beside the murm'iing Loire." 



472 SCENERY OF THE LOIRE. 

I have in vain looked for any specimens of female 
beauty amongst the lower classes ; — and indeed, the 
hard labour and exposure to the sun, to which they 
are subject, will sufficiently account for the want of 
symmetry of form, and beauty of complexion, so ob- 
servable in the female peasantry of France. 

Blois is well calculated for an English residence. 
The people are said to be better disposed towards us, 
than in most other parts of France, and it is parti- 
cularly rich in all the productions of the soil. 

The price of a 'pension, including all the comforts 
of board and lodging, does not exceed 90 francs 
per month. 

This too is a part of France which seems to have 
suffered less than most other places from the fury of 
the Revolution. And this is a great consideration ; 
for, whatever political advantages France may have 
derived from the Revolution, it will require a long 
time to repair the havoc and confusion which that 
tremendous explosion has made in the strata of so- 
ciety, — elevating the lower, depressing the higher, 
and disturbing all. The axe of equality has levelled 
every thing in France, and to look for a gentleman, 
is to lose your labour. All the distinctions of rank 
have been cut down, like the old trees of the forest, 
and the new generation that have sprung up, like the 
coppice, are all on a level ; by which the social 
scene is as much disfigured, as the landscape would 
be by a similar process. You will seek in vain for 



STATE OF SOCIETY IN FRANCE. 473 

that high-bred polish of manners which has been so 
much the boast, as peculiar to the haut-ton of France. 
The young men have, generally speaking, a roue, 
rake-helly demeanour ; — the officers in the army are 
only to be distinguished by their epaulets ; and there 
is throughout society a coarseness of manners, which 
savours strongly of sans-culotism. In losing the ex- 
ternal simagrees of the old school, the French have- 
lost the greater part of their politeness ; for if polite- 
ness consist, as Fielding has beautifully defined it, in an 
extension of the great rule of Christian conduct to be- 
haviour — so as to behave to all as you would they 
should behave to you — the French had never at any 
time more of this true benevolence in trifles, than 
their neighbours. 

True politeness indeed can only be associated with 
principle and honour ; for it must be founded as well 
on self-respect, as on a sense of respect for others; 
and this can scarcely be expected in a country where 
it has been long a favourite maxim, that every man 
has his price, and that every woman — is no better 
than she should be. The decline of morals has 
indeed been greater than the decline of manners ; and 
the whole history of France since the Revolution 
exhibits a lamentable picture of the most degrading- 
want of principle. The French were formerly dis- 
tinguished, if by no very strict principles of religion, 
at least, by a high sense of honour. But the age of 
chivalry is gone ; France is no longer the country of 



474 STATE OF SOCIETY IN FRANCE. 

" high thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy ;" — and 
we shall in vain seek in the campaigns of the soldiers 
of Napoleon, for any portion of that generosity of 
sentiment which animated the knight " sans peur et 
sans reproche." It is common to hear the conduct 
of French officers in breaking their parole, not only 
mentioned without censure, but praised and applauded 
— like a successful theft might have been in Sparta — as 
a justifiable and meritorious act of dexterity. It is 
to be hoped that the continuance of tranquillity, the 
progress of education, and the revival of religious 
principles may restore to the moral sense of the 
French people, that sensibility which has been almost 
destroyed by the long reign of license during the 
Revolution. There are, however, many obstacles 
that will prevent the re-organization of the " Corin- 
thian capital" of society, in France ; which it is de- 
sirable should exist in all countries, — if it consist, as it 
ought, of a class elevated above the vulgar herd, not 
only by the amount of their possessions, but by their 
intellectual and moral superiority. 

One obstacle may be found in the spirit of equa- 
lity, which it will be difficult to eradicate ; and 
which in France is associated with that individual 
vanity, which has no respect for high rank, or high 
station. 

Again, there is the law of inheritance ; the effect 
of which is to prevent the establishment of a perma- 
nent aristocracy of families, whose hereditary weight 



FRENCH LAW OF INHERITANCE. 475 

and influence serve as ballast, in keeping the vessel of 
society steady. 

Though a man may do what he pleases with his 
property during his life ; this law limits his power of 
disposing of it, after his death. If he have only one 
child, he is allowed the absolute disposal of a moiety, — 
the child inheriting the other as matter of right ; if 
he have two children, he can only dispose of a third ; 
and if he have more than two, three-fourths of his 
property must be equally divided amongst the chil- 
dren, and one-fourth only is left to his own disposal ; 
either to leave to a stranger, or to increase the portion 
of the child of his preference. If the father die in- 
testate, the whole property is divided equally amongst 
the children. 

The law of general division, if confined to cases of 
intestacy, might, perhaps, be rational enough, as far 
as it is founded in the interests of the many, in oppo- 
sition to the exclusive right of primogeniture. But 
any interference with the right of a man to dispose of 
his property at his death — excepting so far as the 
general good of society may make it necessary to 
guard against perpetual entails— is manifestly im- 
politic, as removing one of the greatest stimulants of 
human industry. The relations of private life, in- 
deed, can never be the proper objects of legislative 
interference. The interests of children may safely be 
left to the natural operation of parental affection ; 
and the evil tendency of a law which makes children 



J/76 FRENCH LAW OF INHERITANCE. 

to a great degree independent of their parents, has 
already been very extensively felt in France. 

While such has been the effect of this law upon 
domestic life ; its consequences, in a national point of 
view, will probably be still more pernicious. The 
poor laws of England have been well characterized 
by a French writer, as " la verole politique de VAngh- 
terre ;" but by what single term shall we designate 
the complicated evils which may be expected to flow 
from the French law of inheritance ? For, while on 
the one hand, its natural operation will be to produce 
an excess of population, by the equal facilities for 
marrying which it affords to all the members of a 
family ; it must, at the same time, be diminishing 
the means of support, by its constant attacks upon 
capital, in the continual division and sub-division of 
property. Such a system, if permitted to continue, 
must, in the end, produce universal beggary ; for, if 
we follow it to its natural conclusion, every acre in 
France will finally be divided, to the utter extinction 
of all capital, and every Frenchman eventually re- 
duced to the condition of a pauper. 

Though the morals and manners of the highest 
class of society have suffered much from the Revo- 
lution ; though you will occasionally meet in the 
parlour with something that savours of the servants' 
hall ; you will perhaps meet with more of High Life 
below Stairs in France, than in any other country in 
the world. There is in France an universal quick- 



VERSAILLES. 477 

ness of intellect and apprehension, and a perfect 
freedom from that awkward embarrassment of manner, 
which is in England, I believe, denominated clownish- 
ness. As far therefore as the mere outward air of 
good breeding goes, almost every Frenchman is well- 
bred ; and you may enter into conversation with a 
French servant or a French cobbler, upon any of the 
topics that are common to the mixed company of 
rational and intelligent people all over the world, 
without any fear of being disgusted by coarseness or 
vulgarity. 

14th. Orleans; — the cathedral is very beautiful, 
and the view from the tower will well repay the 
trouble of ascending it ; which cannot be said of all 
such expeditions. A walk of three miles will carry 
you to the source of the Loiret, which is considered 
an object of curiosity. This river rises in a plain ; 
it is said to be navigable to its source, though no 
boats are to be seen ; and they tell you its source is 
unfathomable. 

15th. We diverged from the road this morning, 
to the left ; and, passing through a very interesting 
country, arrived to breakfast at Versailles. On the 
highest ground in the town stands the palace. The 
old front next the town, built by Louis XIII., is 
heavy and ugly. In the courts on this side were 
performed the tragic scenes that disgraced the 5th and 
6th of October, 1789. The facade of the palace on 
the garden side is very fine ; but the waste of ex- 



478 ENTRANCE TO PARIS. 

pense in formal alleys, a mob of statues, and un- 
meaning buildings, hurts an English eye. We walked 
to he petit Trianon, the favourite retreat of Marie 
Antoinette. The gardens are a tolerable imitation of 
the English taste, but still too artificial. The Tour 
de Malbrook is a foolish thing enough ; — but the cot- 
tages are very pretty, and one might admire the taste 
which designed them, if they had been intended for the 
real habitations of clean and decent peasantry; — 
instead of retreats in which the queen and her 
favourites might play at shepherds and shepherdesses. 

The approach to Paris from Versailles is extremely 
grand. You come at once upon the Place Louis 
Quinze, which is the finest spot in Paris ; or perhaps 
in any other town. 

Drove immediately to the Hotel de Boston in the 
Rue Vivienne ; an excellent house in every respect. 



479 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Comparison of London with Paris — Catacombs — Cham- 
ber of Deputies — Theatre Francais — Louvre — 
French Women — Gaming Tables—Place Vendome 
— Gobelin Tapestry — Deaf and Dumb — French 
Character — Journey to Dieppe — Conclusion. 

May 19th. IN comparing Paris with London, 
the latter has, I think, decidedly the advantage in 
general magnificence, and all the attributes of a me- 
tropolis ; though perhaps the former may have the 
greater number of beaux morceaux in proportion to its 
size. But then, it must be remembered, that Paris 
is not much more than half the size of London. 

Paris has certainly nothing that can be put in com- 
petition with our squares ; nor are there such places 
for riding and walking as the Park and Kensington 
Gardens. The Thames would be degraded by a 
comparison with the Seine ; and Waterloo Bridge is 
worth all the bridges in Paris put together. The 
Pantheon, — fine building as it is, would not even by a 
Frenchman, be placed upon a level with St. Paul's ; 
nor can any Englishman allow Notre Dame to be 
mentioned in the same sentence with Westminster 
Abbey. Still however, I think we must own that a 



480 PARIS. 

walk from the Boulevards, down the Rue de la Paix, 
through the Place Vendome, to the Place Louis 
Quinze, and so on to the river, proceeding thence 
along the Quai to the Thuileries and the Louvre, 
would present an assemblage of magnificent objects, 
which exceed any thing that London has to shew 
within the same compass. „ 

In making a survey of both capitals, one cannot 
help being struck with the distinctive differences 
of national character, which are so strongly marked 
in the leading features of the one and the other. 
Comfort seems to have presided at the building of 
London, and shew at that of Paris. A drive through 
the streets of Paris will explain to you at once, that 
it is the capital of a people who have no taste for 
the privacy of home ; but who prefer to live in the 
glare and glitter of public amusements. The houses 
are of an immense height, but then no man's " house 
is his castle ;" each story has its tenants, and if the 
effect of such wholesale buildings be magnificent, it 
is obtained at a prodigious sacrifice of domestic com- 
fort, But, to make comfortable homes is not the 
object in Paris ; on the contrary, it is upon public 
places, that attention and expense are almost exclu- 
sively employed ;— -and these are made as luxurious 
as possible. The cafes, the restaurateurs, and the 
thousand establishments for the entertainment and re- 
creation of the public, will be found in the highest 
state of perfection ; and it is to enjoy themselves in 



PARIS. 481 

such places, that the French escape from the com- 
fortless retreat of their own dwellings. In London 
we find the reverse of all this. For, though our public 
buildings are in the grandest style of magnificence ; yet, 
perhaps, the most striking feature in London is the 
evident and paramount object of all the vast sums 
expended in its improvement; — namely, the indivi- 
dual comfort of the inhabitants. Witness the paving 
and lighting the streets ; the admirable though invi- 
sible works, by means of which water is circulated 
through all the veins of the metropolis ; — works of 
which Paris is wholly destitute — and the spacious 
laying out of the squares ; which, splendid as they 
are, seem less intended for shew, than for the health 
and enjoyment of those that live in them. 

If the houses in London are not uniformly so high 
as those in Paris, it is because they are adapted for 
the use of different classes of people ; and they rise, 
according to the rank of their possessors, from the 
humble scale of the Suburbs, to the magnificent pro- 
portions of Grosvenor-square. I can easily believe 
that a traveller may be more struck with the coup 
d'ceil of Paris, than of London. But he has seen the 
least striking part of London, who has only seen the 
out-side of the streets ; — " there is that within which 
passeth shew ;" for London must be seen in the luxury 
and comfort of its private society, which will furnish 
scenes of enjoyment, such as cannot be found, I be- 
lieve, in any other metropolis in the world. 

£ I 



482 PARIS. 

If the two towns however be merely considered* as 
scenes of gaiety, as places of holiday recreation, it 
is not surprising that Paris should be almost univer- 
sally preferred by strangers. One may certainly say 
of it, as I believe was said of Seneca's style, — 
abundat dulcibus vitiis, — or in other words— it is a 
charming place to play the fool in. But, whatever 
superiority it may have over London is derived 
chiefly from its very inferiority of scale and grandeur ; 
for this gives it an advantage of the same kind with 
that, which a small theatre has over a large one ; 
inasmuch as the spectacle with all its details is com- 
pressed within a smaller compass, and brought nearer 
to the spectator. Thus, the gardens of the Thuileries 
are very inferior in extent and beauty to those of 
Kensington ; but then the former are in the very heart 
of Paris ; while the latter, for any useful purpose to 
the majority of the inhabitants of London, might as 
well be at York. 

Again — Tivoli is certainly not equal to Vauxhall ; 
but then you may walk to Tivoli in ten minutes from 
the Palais Royal, see all that is to be seen, walk back 
again, and be in bed before midnight, without any 
of the fuss and trouble attendant upon an expedition 
to Vauxhall. Every thing, in a word, that Paris 
contains is come-atable at pleasure ; and if you add, 
that there is no smoke, that a dollar will go as far 
as a guinea does in London, and that it has not, 
as far as I could see, the horrid nests of human 



PARIS. 4S3 

vermin which are to be found in Wapping and St. 
Giles's ; you will have said nearly all that can be said 
in its favour. 

In the essential points of eating and drinking 
indeed, the Parisians may claim the most unques- 
tionable superiority over us. It is impossible not 
to admit, that cider cannot vie with champagne, and 
that burgundy is better than beer. Vive Paris pour 
qui a de V argent ! says somebody ; but one might 
almost cry Vive Paris pour qui n f en a pas ! Witness 
the culinary affiches with which the walls are placarded. 

" Tabar, Restaurateur: Diner a 30 sols (I5d. 
English) — On a Potage, 3 Plats tres forts, une demi- 
bouteille de bon vin, Pain a discretion, un beau 
dessert, — ou un petit verre de veille eau-de-vie de 
Cognac. Le tout au choix. Le service se fait en 
beau linge ; argenterie ; et porcelaine, &c." 

If this should be too dear, you are tempted by 
another affiche close by. 

" Unique dans son genre ! Diner copieux a 22 
sols (lid. English) par t&te, servi en couvert et bols 
d'argent, en beau linge blanc. On a potage, 3 plats 
au choix, dessert, un carafon d'excellent vin. Pain 
a discretion. On remplace le dessert par un petit 
verre d'eau de vie. 

" Le public est prevenu qu'afin de meriter sa con- 
fiance et flatter son gout, il trouvera la carte bien 
detaill^e et varied tous les jours, tant en volaille, 
gibier, poisson, que patisserie et dessert." 

2 12 



484 PARIS, 

. This will suffice to shew, that the Parisians under- 
stand the art of puffing and placarding, at least as 
well as the Londoners. It may be possible, in Lon- 
don, to get the substance of a dinner at a chop-house 
for as small a sum as two shillings ; but, in a wretched 
form, and without any of the accessories of luxury, 
or even comfort. In Paris however, you may dine 
at the Salon Francais in the Palais Royal, in a superb 
salon, as well fitted up, and better lighted, than the 
Piazza at Co vent-gar den, and be served with soup, 
three dishes au choix, bread a discretion, a pint of 
Burgundy, and dessert ; all for the sum of eighteen 
pence ;— and the waiter makes- you a low bow for 
the gratuity of three-halfpence ! 

20th. There is another advantage in Paris, which 
is derived from its inferiority of size ; — a walk of 
half an hour will take you from the centre of the 
town into the country. In London this is the work 
of half-a-day. And, when you are once clear of the 
barrihres, you are as much in the country, and breathe 
as pure an air, as if you were a hundred miles off. 
This facility of uniting the pleasures of town and 
country makes Paris very agreeable. St. Cloud, 
for instance, is a mere walk, and a more romantic 
scene can scarcely be conceived. 

The park at St. Cloud during a fete might be 
compared with a scene in Fairy Land. To compare 
it with something nearer home; — Imagine several 
thousand people in Windsor Forest — though perhaps 



PARIS. 485 

the wood at St. Cloud may be flattered by the com- 
parison — temporary shops erected without number on 
each side of a fine alley of trees, — and the whole 
forest animated by people amusing themselves in all 
sorts of ways ; — here dancing in troops under the 
shade, — there riding in round-about machines, with 
ships attached to the extremity of their poles, which 
sail round and round with an undulating motion, like 
that of a vessel under a steady breeze ;— here enjoy- 
ing the jokes of Punch and Merry Andrew — and 
there climbing paths that would not ill become the 
pleasure-ground of an Esquimaux. The whole com- 
bination is enchantingly picturesque, and realizes 
the descriptions that I have read in some foreign 
novels, in which I always thought there was some- 
thing too poetical to be fact ; but the fact is not less 
poetical, if one may so say, than the description. 

The French, though without any taste for the 
romantic in nature, have a happy knack in the imi-. 
tation of it. The gardens of Tivoli for instance, 
though so inferior to Vauxhall in capabilities, are 
rendered much more rural and romantic ; and this 
is extraordinary enough, considering the different 
tastes of the two nations. Instead of taking your 
refreshment in boxes, as at Vauxhall, you here take 
it under the trees, or in arbours ; the walks too are 
delightfully solitary, and the whole scheme of the 
entertainments is got up in a better taste, than the 
fites champitres on our side of the water. 



486 CATACOMBS, 

21st. Visit to the Catacombs. Our descent into 
these mansions of the dead was less impressive than 
it might have been, owing to the association of 
numbers. 

The effect which such a scene is calculated to 
produce upon the imagination is almost entirely 
destroyed, by the din and distraction of a large party. 
As, however, it requires some time to explore these 
Cimmerian regions, the Custos limits his labours, to 
a single exhibition per day ; — so that all those, who 
wish to accompany him, assemble at the hour ap- 
pointed for opening the door, and proceed together. 

Armed with tapers, we descended a flight of steps, 
to the depth of about a hundred feet below the 
surface, and entered one of the low passages leading 
to the catacombs. These vaults are the work of 
ages, having been formed by excavating for the stone, 
with which Paris was built. They are of prodigious 
extent, and there are melancholy instances to prove 
how fatally a stranger may lose himself, in the laby- 
rinth of passages into which they are divided. 

To prevent a recurrence of such accidents, the 
proper route is indicated by a black line, marked upon 
the roof, which would furnish a straggler with a clue to 
retrace his steps, if he should happen to lose his way. 

After some time we arrived at a small black door, 
over which was the following inscription : — 

Has ultra metas requieseant 
Beatam spem expectantes. 



CATACOMBS. 487 

This is the entrance into the Cavern of Death ; 
where the contents of the various cemeteries of Paris 
have been deposited ;— and as the door is locked 
behind you, it is difficult to prevent an involuntary 
shudder from creeping over you, at the thought of 
being shut up with — two millions of skulls ! 

Here they are, — grinning all around you ; piled up 
in every form of fanciful arrangement; though the 
common mode of stowing them is in bins,— like 
bottles in a cellar ; in which the thigh bones answer 
the purposes of laths. Upon the whole, it is a painful 
sight. You feel as if you were guilty of profanation, 
by intruding upon that privacy which ought to be 
sacred, — for the dead should not be made a spectacle 
to the living. We do not meet on even terms, 
They had tongues, and could sing, — once ! but their 
gibes and their flashes of merriment are gone ; 
*' not one left to mock their own grinning! — Quite 
chap-fallen." 

Wherever you turn, you encounter something to 
excite disagreeable sensations. In one chamber is a 
disgusting assortment of the osteological remains of 
disease and deformity ; in another, the surgeon may 
study the old fashion of amputating limbs, and tre- 
panning heads, in the maimed relics there collected 
together. In one place, the simple inscription of a 
date calls up the recollection of the massacres of the 
revolution, marking the place where the bones of the 
victims are deposited : 



488 CATACOMBS. 

2 SEPTEMBRE, 1792. 

In another quarter, your eye is arrested by a sen 
tence conceived in the worst spirit of French philoso- 
phy ; and obtruded upon you here in the worst taste — 

Quseris quo jaceas post obitum loco ? 
Quo non notajacent. 

At the further extremity of the vaults, is a pretty 
fountain, in which some gold fish were sporting 
about, which seemed to thrive well, unconscious of 
the horrors that surrounded them. 

Though a visit to the catacombs leaves a painful 
impression, the moral effect is wholesome. You 
return to the world more disposed to be in good 
humour with yourself, and with it; — and in reas- 
cending to the " warm precincts of the cheerful day" 
you taste the whole force of Virgil's exclamation, 
where he describes the intense but fruitless longing of 
his departed spirits to return to a world, which they 
had wilfully quitted : — 

Quam vellent aethere in alto, 



Nunc et pauperiem, et duros perferre labores ! 

22nd. To the Palais Luxembourg. Here is the 
exhibition of the paintings of living French artists. 
The style of the modern French painters is glaring 
and harsh, and they are too fond of introducing 
prettinesses into interesting subjects. In Guerin's 
famous picture of Ph&dra and Hippolytus, you may 
count the squares of the marble pavement, and trace 



CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES. 489 

all the curious needlework, with which the garments 
of the figures are embroidered. All the accompa- 
niments are in the same style. Guerin however has 
finely imagined the characters of his painting. Phaedra 
and Hippolytus are admirable ; the nurse absolutely 
speaks, though perhaps she has too much the air of a 
kitchen-maid. Theseus's countenance expresses un- 
mixed contempt, — but surely there should be some 
mixture of anger. In the colouring of the French 
painters there is often great effect ; — but then it is 
almost always an unpleasant effect— their pictures are 
all glare and light — they seem to despise, or to be 
ignorant of that delicate management of light 
and shade, which painters call chiaroscuro, David 
is the ringleader of this style, and he out-Fuselies 
Fuseli in the overstrained extravagance of his atti- 
tudes. Gerard is the most celebrated artist of the 
present day, both in history, and portraits. I en- 
deavoured in Vain to see his Battle of Austerlitz, 
which I am told is his best work ; but I saw his 
Entrance of Henry IV. into Paris, and the portraits 
of Mademoiselle Mars, and others. There is much 
merit in his works in both kinds. 

24th. Visited the Chamber of Deputies; — a 
spacious hall of a semicircular form, handsomely fitted 
up with a profusion of marble, and decorated with the 
statues of Lycurgus, Solon, Demosthenes, Brutus, 
Cato, and Ciceio. The president's chair, and the 
desks of the secretaries, occupy the base of the semi- 



490 CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES. 

circle ; in which, the seats of the members are ar- 
ranged in semicircular rows, rising one above the 
other, facing the president. The two centre benches 
on the floor, immediately opposite the tribune, answer 
to our Treasury Bench, and are appropriated to the 
ministers. Above is a roomy gallery for the public. 
Their hour of meeting corresponds with that of our 
own House of Commons, in less fashionable times 
than the present. The doors are opened at half-past 
eleven o'clock ; the president takes the chair at one ; 
and their debate is brought to a conclusion by dinner- 
time. The chamber has not shaken off all the re- 
mains of the imperial stratocracy. Drums announced 
the entrance of the president, who was followed by 
two Serjeants at arms. His dress is the simple uni- 
form of the Chamber — an embroidered blue coat — 
without wig or gown. These adjuncts may con- 
tribute nothing to a native dignity of person, but 
they are not without their use in supplying the ordi- 
nary deficiencies of nature. Nothing could be less 
dignified than the appearance and manner of the 
French president, who tripped up the steps to his 
chair, with the air of a footman in haste to answer 
his mistress's bell. Private business, and the pre- 
sentation of petitions, occupied the House till two 
o'clock; by which time, the ministers had taken 
their seats, and the president announced the order of 
the day. 

The ministers wear a uniform distinct from that 



CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES, 491 

of the Chamber ; and they have the right of speaking, 
but cannot vote. The assembly had rather a slovenly 
appearance ; some members being in uniform, and 
others not ; for the costume is only strictly necessary 
to those, who mean to mount the tribune. The 
debate was dull and tiresome ; the first speaker read 
his oration from a written paper, and persisted for 
half an hour, though it was plain that no person paid 
the slightest attention to a word that he uttered. 
Then followed an extempore orator, who spoke with 
considerable force, animation, and effect; but, the 
mounting the tribune, — which is placed immediately 
under the president's chair so that the orator ne- 
cessarily turns his back upon him — has a bad effect ; 
it takes away the impression of the speech proceeding 
from the immediate impulse of the speaker, and gives 
the idea of a premeditated harangue, which is always 
tedious. 

La Fayette sat on the left side of the Chamber, 
which is filled by the Radicals, or as the French term 
them, the Liberaux ; while the opposite benches, on 
the right side, are occupied by the Ultra Royalist 
party. It is impossible not to look with interest at 
this earliest child of the Revolution— which has been 
well compared to Saturn devouring his children — for 
his very existence is a standing miracle ; and excites 
the sort of feeling, produced by the sight of a venerable 
oak, that has outlived the fury of a storm, by which 
the minor trees of the forest have been destroyed. 



102 CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES. 

The Count de Cases, the popular minister of the 
day, is not more than thirty-eight years old ; being 
under the age prescribed for a deputy. He is the 
great hero of the centre, which is composed of that 
party of the Chamber, called Constitutionalists, who 
are supposed to be independent. It will be happy 
for France, if this party be really composed of men, 
who, having no interested views to gratify, are con- 
tent to " trim the boat and sit quiet;" and, by the 
judicious disposal of their weight, prevent the vessel 
from leaning too much to the side of the radical 
royalists on the right, or the radical republicans on 
the left. It is such a party as this, founded on prin- 
ciples rather than men, and shifting its support as it 
may perceive danger from the encroachment of either 
of the ultra parties of the state, that can alone pre- 
serve a mixed constitution, from being torn in pieces 
by the madness of democracy, or sinking for ever 
into the death-sleep of despotism. 

Such a body of men is especially necessary in 
France, to temper the excesses of party ascendency ; 
for in France, the party in power is omnipotent. Never 
was there seen such a land for ratting ; — nothing can 
equal the rapidity of the contagion, which is shewn 
in an immediate competition amongst all classes to 
range themselves on the side of the strongest. This 
utter want of party attachment has often enabled a 
daring minority, by the semblance of power, to 
frighten the nation into submission to a yoke, which 



CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES. 493 

a trifling effort would have been sufficient to shake 
off. There is nothing more surprising in the strange 
history of the French Revolution, than the barefaced 
impudence, with which a few daring demagogues dis- 
posed of the fates of the rest of their countrymen ; — 
unless it be the base and cowardly apathy, with 
which the great mass submitted to the knife of their 
butchers. Let us hear how Madame Roland, — the 
most amiable and the most enthusiastic of the parti- 
zans of liberty — expresses herself, in describing the 
horrible massacres of the prisoners in September, 
1792 : — " Cependant, les massacres continuerent a 
VAbbaye, du Dimanche au soir, an Mardi matin ; a 
la Force, davantage ; a Bictltre quatre jours. Tout 
Paris fut t6moin de ces horribles scenes executes 
par un petit nombre de bourreaux. Tout Paris 
laissa faire — tout Paris fut maudit a mes yeux, et 
je n'esperai plus que la liberte s'&ablit parmi des 
laches, insensible aux derniers outrages qu'on puisse 
faire a i'humanit6 ; froids spectateurs d'attentats que 
le courage de cinquante hommes arm^s auroit facile- 

ment emp&ch6s. Le fait est que le bruit d'une 

pr&endue conspiration dans les prisons, tout invrai- 
semblable qu'il fut, l'annonce affectee de Pinquietude 
et de la colere du peuple, retenait chacun dans la 
stupeur, et lui persuadait au fond de sa maison, que 
c'6tait le peuple qui agissait ; lorsque de compte fait, 
il n'y avait pas deux cents brigands pour la totalite 
de cette infame expedition. Aussi ce n'est pas la 



494 CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES. 

premiere nuit qui m'6tonne: mais quatre jours! — et 
des curieux alloient voir ce spectacle ! — Non je ne 
connais rien dans les annales des peuples les plus 
barbares, de comparable a ces atrocites." It was 
the same culpable apathy, the same selfish timidity, 
in the majority of the Convention, which enabled 
the originally contemptible faction of the Mountain 
to subdue, proscribe, and condemn, all its opponents. 
The same facility of submission to any yoke, has 
been lately exemplified in the most striking manner, 
in the exits and entrances of rival kings ; which have 
been conducted at Paris after the same quiet and 
bloodless manner, in which those things are generally 
exhibited on the stage. Madame de Stael, in de- 
scribing the French character, does not omit this 
striking trait. " Les Francais," says she, " sont peu 
disposes a la guerre civile, parceque chez eux la 
majorite entraine presque toujours la minorite ; le 
parti qui passe pour le plus fort, devient bien vite 
tout puissant, car tout le monde s'y reunit." 

26th. In the evening to the Theatre Franyais. 
When a favourite piece is performed, it is necessary 
to be at the doors some time before they are opened. 
But, the candidates for places have the good sense 
to perceive the inconvenience of thronging in a dis- 
orderly manner, and the established rule is to form 
d la queue as it is called ; that is, in a column of two 
a-breast, and every one is obliged to take his place in 
the rear, in the order in which he arrives. This is done 



THEATRE FRANCA1S. 495 

with as much order and regularity as would be ob- 
served in a regiment of soldiers ; in consequence of 
which, the whole business is conducted without the 
smallest tumult, and with ease to every one. It is 
true that the gens d'armes in attendance have autho- 
rity to enforce this rule, if there should be any person 
so unreasonable as to refuse compliance; but still 
great credit is due to the French for their ready adop- 
tion of what is rational. The play was Joanne d'Arc. 
Mademoiselle Duchesnois was the heroine, and a most 
alarmingly ugly heroine she made ; but bodily defects 
are of little importance if the soul be of the right 
temper. When that is the case,— 

" Pritchard's genteel, and Garrick's six feet high." 

Her face, however plain, is capable of considerable 
variety of expression; and, what is of more importance 
than beauty, there is a great deal of mind in her coun- 
tenance ; for this is absolutely necessary to command 
our interest and sympathy. Who can sympathize 
with a simpleton, even if it be a pretty simpleton? 
Duchesnois drew down much applause, and she de- 
served it ; — she feels justly, and has the faculty of 
expressing what she feels. This is the extent of her 
merit ; but here, where there is so much unnatural de- 
clamation, her style appears to the greatest advantage. 

Mademoiselle Volnais, for example, with a plump 
unmeaning pretty face, chants out her part, with 
no more apparent feeling or understanding than a 
parrot. 



496 THEATRE FRANCAIS. 

La Fond, who is a great favourite with the au- 
dience, played Talbot with something that was very 
like spirit and dignity ; but he can never conceal the 
actor; he is all "strut and bellow ;" and his voice, 
though it has great compass, is harsh and unpleasant. 
The political allusions, of which the play is full, par- 
ticularly the prophetic denunciations of Joanne against 
England, were eagerly seized by the audience, and 
rancorously applauded. It must require all the vanity 
of the French, to sit and hear, as the audience did 
with patience and complacency, the most fulsome 
and disgusting flattery addressed to their national 
feelings, in the vilest and worst taste of clap-traps. 
The very gallery in England has grown out of its 
liking for this sort of stuff. 

A new after-piece followed — " Les Femmes Po- 
Utiques ;" a pretty trifle written in elegant language, 
which was charmingly delivered. Mademoiselle 
Mars and Mademoiselle Dupuis played delightfully ; 
Baptiste aine looked and spoke like the old gentle- 
man he represented ; and Monrose excited a laugh 
without descending to buffoonery and caricature. 
This sort of conversational French comedy is delight- 
ful ; — it is nature m her best dress, — polite — well 
bred — and sparkling. 

But, in comedies where there is more room for the 
exhibition of comic humour, the French actors are 
perhaps inferior to our own. We shall in vain look for 
parallels of what Lewis was, or what Munden and 



THEATRE FRANCAIS. 497 

Dowton are ; and even with respect to Mademoiselle 
Mars, excellent as she is in the first and highest walks 
of comedy, for which she seems designed by nature — 
being very beautiful, very graceful, and perfectly well- 
bred; — yet, in characters of archness and humour, 
she might put a little more heart, and a great deal 
more mind into her representations. We miss the 
force, the richness, and the warmth of Mrs. Jordan's 
acting, and the exquisite point that she had the art 
of giving to comic dialogue ; which only wanted 
the embellishments and good-breeding of the French 
Thalia, to constitute a perfect actress. 

The point of perfection would perhaps be found 
somewhere between the styles of the two nations. 
To take an example from the Tartuffe ; — the famous 
scene between Tartuffe and Elmire, is scarcely played 
up to the intention of the author, by Damas and Ma- 
demoiselle Mars, and it certainly might be coloured 
higher, without overstepping the modesty of nature. 
Dowton, in Cantwell, may go a little too far with 
Lady Lambert — and yet who can think so that re- 
members the effect produced by his management of 
the interview — but Damas, in Tartuffe, does not go 
far enough with Elmire. The scene " comes tardy 
off:" — bienseance, when carried too far, is a mill- 
stone round the neck of tragedy and comedy. Con- 
greve says well, that a scene on the stage must re- 
present nature, but in warmer colours than it exists 
in reality. It is in Moliere particularly, perhaps 



498 FRENCH OP^ERA. 

exclusively, that the French comedians seem to fall 
short of the author ; for Moliere is the most humor- 
ous of all their writers. He is the Fielding of France, 
and there is a richness and a raciness about him which 
are sometimes frittered away in the representation. 

It might be curious to inquire the cause of the 
universal decline of the art of acting, during the 
present age. France has only two performers that 
are much above mediocrity ; but they are excellent ; 
— Talma in tragedy, and Mars in comedy. As to 
all the rest, though many have a considerable portion 
of merit, we may pass them over in silence, except 
Potier ; who is, as he deserves to be, a prodigious 
favourite in farce and caricature, — but we possess a 
better edition of Potier, than the French themselves, 
in our own inimitable Liston. 

The French opera is the most splendid theatre in 
Paris; but protect me from French singing! — espe- 
cially if it be serious singing. Arthur Young, in 
speaking of French singing, describes it as " the 
distortions of embodied dissonance," and Rousseau 
inveighs against the " lamentable chant Francais" 
as bearing more resemblance " aux cris de la colique 
qu'aux transports des passions ;" and in their cho- 
russes there is a grand roar-royal, as if they all had 
the colic together. The light airs of their comic 
operas are however very pleasing; and there is at 
least this merit in their singing, that you can hear 
what they say. The airs of Gretry are delightful. 



THE LOUVRE. 499 

The ballet of the French opera is perfect ; — in dancing, 
as well as cooking, I believe we must acknowledge 
our inferiority, nor attempt to rival the French 
in agility of heels. I have seen in the gardens of 
Tivoli, a pas de trois, performed by two male and 
one female dancer upon stilts. The pirouettes on these 
seven-leagued legs, were inexpressibly ridiculous ; 
but, if difficulty be the great desideratum in dancing, 
this style, of all others, ought to be entitled to the 
loudest applause. 

27th. The Louvre, stripped as it has been of the 
spoils which Buonaparte and his myrmidons had col- 
lected from all parts of Europe, is still a noble collec- 
tion. The gallery itself — 500 yards in length — lined 
with pictures, is a magnificent sight. 

There are still remaining some beautiful specimens 
of Raphael, Murillo, Titian, and Salvator Rosa. 
The gaps, occasioned by the restoration of the spoils 
of Italy, have been filled up with the Luxembourg pic- 
tures of Rubens, who has thrown away a vast deal of 
labour and fine colouring in hopeless and incurable 
allegories ; and by the sea-pieces of Vernet, which are 
so beautiful, that we cannot, while looking at them, 
regret the absence of any pictures whatever. His 
views of the seaports, combine all the beauties of paint- 
ing, with the most accurate fidelity of resemblance. 
But it is in his fancy pieces, that he gives the reins 
to his imagination, and indulges in every variety of 
tint and contrast ; and it is difficult to say whether he 

2 K2 



500 THE LOUVRE. 

is most admirable, in the warm glow of sunshine — • 
in the pale silver gleams of moonlight — or in the 
gloomy gathering of a fog. 

Nicholas Poussin is the great hero of the French 
school of painting. There is a hardness of manner in 
the generality of his works, which injures their effect, 
— but his Deluge is sublime. There is a dark and 
terrible solemnity about it, admirably suited to the 
subject. The universal desolation is pictured by a 
selection of a few instances of the most affecting 
images, which do honour to the heart of the painter ; 
who represents love — conjugal and parental love — as 
enduring through all trials, exerting its energy to the 
last, and overwhelmed only in the end, — by the de- 
struction of all things. One would almost fancy Poussin 
had the verse of scripture in his mind, — " Many waters 
cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it." 

There is a picture in the Louvre by Lairesse, from 
which I think Sir Joshua Reynolds must have bor- 
rowed the idea of Garrick between Comedy and 
Tragedy. 

The composition and arrangement of the figures 
are so precisely the same, that the resemblance can 
scarcely be accidental. The subject is, Hercules 
between Virtue and Vice ; and Sir Joshua has not 
even been at the pains of adding legs to the half- 
lengths of the originals ; — though he has certainly 
improved upon Lairesse's Vice, in his exquisitely 
charming figure of Thalia. 



FRENCH WOMEN. 501 

The Louvre collection of statues may still boast 
some of the most beautiful specimens of ancient 
sculpture. The Borghese collection, amongst which 
are the famous fighting Gladiator, and the Herma- 
phrodite, was bought and added to the National 
Museum by Napoleon. 

28th. Before I leave Paris, I ought to record my 
impressions of the French women ; who must, I 
think, yield the palm to their English and Italian 
neighbours. They want the freshness, and retiring 
delicacy of the first ; and the dignity, and voluptuous 
enthusiasm of the second. Whatever beauty there is 
amongst them is confined to the upper classes, and the 
Grisettes. In passing through the country, I was 
everywhere appalled by the squalid faces of the pea- 
santry : so. unlike the romantic pictures of Sterne. 
The point in which the Parisian ladies claim the most 
decided superiority over their English sisters is in 
the elegance of their tournure ; and for this claim 
there may be some foundation. The French ladies, 
however, sometimes carry their pretty mincing gait 
too far; but even this is better than the opposite 
extreme, which is occasionally exemplified in the 
stride of an Englishwoman. What Rousseau said of 
the Parisknnes, and of the silly spirit of imitation 
which induces other nations to deform their figures 
by adopting the deformities of French fashions, may 
well be applied to the present day ; when every 
Englishwoman is at the pains of making herself 



502 FRENCH WOMEN. 

hump -backed, for no other reason, as it would seem, 
than that the native beauty of her form may be re- 
duced to the French standard of symmetry. " Me- 
nues," says Rousseau, speaking of the Parisiennes 
" plutdt que bien faites, elles n'ont pas les tailles 
fines ; aussi, s'attachent-elles volontiers aux modes 
qui la d6guisent, en quoi je trouve assez simples les 
femmes des autres pays, de vouloir bien des modes 
faites pour cacher les deTautes qu'elles n'ont pas." 

It is a curious fact that in 1814, the English ladies 
were so possessed with a rage for imitating even the 
deficiencies of their French sisterhood, that they ac- 
tually had recourse to violent means, even to the 
injury of their health, to compress their beautiful 
bosoms as flatly as possible, and destroy every ves- 
tige of those charms, for which of all other women, 
they are perhaps the most indebted to nature. 

The French women appear, what I believe they 
really are, kind, good-humoured, and affectionate ; 
but light, fickle, capricious, and trifling. Without 
having thrown off entirely the robe of virtue, they 
wear it so loosely as to admit of freedoms, which 
would shock the delicacy of more reserved manners. 
No woman in Paris, I believe, would feel offended at 
any proposals, if made d'une certaine manihre, et d'un 
air bien comme il faut ; — though it by no means fol- 
lows that the proposals would be accepted ; for, as 
Mrs. Sullen says, in the play, "it happens with wo- 
men as, with men ; the greatest talkers are often the 



FRENCH WOMEN. 503 

greatest cowards, and there is a reason for it : — those 
spirits evaporate in prattle, which might do more 
mischief if they took another course." But, there 
can be no descriptions of national characters without 
exceptions ; — Mesdames Ney and Lavalette, in these 
days, and Mesdames La Roche Jacquelin and Ro- 
land, in the days of the Revolution, may challenge a 
comparison with the fairest names that ever adorned 
the annals of womanhood. 

Matrimony, if one may take the evidence of the 
journals, seems to be a regular business of advertise- 
ment. I select three out of eight in one paper ; — 
and all too on the part of the ladies. 

" Une demoiselle bien nee et aimable, ayant 
120,000 francs de biens, desire Epouser un homme 
age et riche." 

" Une demoiselle de 24 ans, jolie et d'une educa- 
tion distinguee, ayant 40,000 francs comptant* et par 
la suite, 200,000 francs, desire epouser un jeune 
homme aimable, et ayant de la fortune.*' 

" Une demoiselle, de 19 ans, sans fortune, mais 
jolie, aimable, et bien elevee, desire epouser un 
homme age, et assez aise pour pouvoir faire quelque 
bien a sa mere." 

Perhaps age means no more than our word aged, 
as applied to a horse. 

This may suffice as a specimen ; — on the part of 
the gentlemen the paper offered no advertisement 
whatever. 



504 GAMING TABLES. 

29th. The following document, taken from the 
Bibliothcque Historique, will shew the fearful extent to 
which gaming is carried in Paris at present. 

BUDGET DES JEUX PUBLICS. 
ETAT DES FRAIS ANNUELS DES JEUX DE PARIS. 

7 Tables de Trente-et-un. 

9 de Roulette. 

1 Passe-Dix. 

1 Craps. 

1 Creps. 

1 Biribi. 

20 

These twenty tables are distributed about Paris ; 
the minimum established as a stake, varies from a 
Napoleon to a sous ; so that every man may find a 
table, suited to his fortune. At some, women are ad- 
mitted, and it is needless to describe the effect 
which such institutions must have upon the morals 
of the town. The current expenses of these es- 
tablishments are calculated at no less a sum than 
1,551,480 francs per annum. And in addition to 
these there is the " bail" or duty to government 
6,000,000 francs ; and the bonus for the bail 166,666 
francs; making together the enormous sum of 
7,718,146 francs. 

From documents it appears, that the average gain 
of the tables is 800,000 francs per month, amounting 
to 9,600,000 francs per annum ; which, after sub- 



GAMING TABLES. 505 

stracting the expenses, 7,718,146 francs, will leave a 
clear profit of 1,881,854 francs. And yet, in spite 
of this unanswerable logic of figures and facts, there 
are every day fresh victims, who are infatuated enough 
to believe, that it is possible to counterbalance the 
advantage which the bank possesses, by a judicious 
management of the power that the player has of 
altering his stake. This is a fatal error. For, 
though it is common to talk of the uncertainty of 
chance ; yet, in an unlimited series, chance becomes 
certainty ; and the doctrine of the chances is founded 
upon the same general and immutable laws which 
direct all the operations of matter. There is a little 
pamphlet published at Paris, which ought to be read 
by every man who needs to be convinced, that he 
who plays against the table must, at the long run, be 
made a beggar. 

30th. The " zeal to destroy" is busily at work 
all over Paris, in endeavouring to obliterate Napo- 
leon's renown; and indeed to convert the imperial 
insignia into emblems in honour of the Bourbons. 
Thus, the N. is universally changed into an H. to 
pay a compliment to Henri Quatre, of which he has 
no need ; and the Bee is transformed into afleur de lis. 
The bas reliefs too, which commemorate the achieve- 
ments of the Ex-Emperor, are torn down without 
mercy. There is something pitiful in this disfigure- 
ment, which does little credit to those who ordered it. 
It is not only ill-judged, as being calculated to 



506 FOUNTAIN OF THE ELEPHANT. 

engrave deeper on the tablets of the memory, the 
recollection of those exploits, which are thus unwor- 
thily treated ; but the attempt is manifestly impossible. 
All Paris savours of Napoleon; for instance, — what 
can be done with the column in the Place Vendome ? 
— can it be supposed that the white flag on the top 
of it, will efface the recollection, that this pillar was 
composed of 1,200 pieces of cannon, taken by Napo- 
leon at the battle of Austerlitz ? 

This subject has been well treated in the letter to 
the Duke of Wellington, which was attributed to 
Fouche. — " Quand on a ete subjugue" par Napoleon, 
il-y-apeu de jugement a le denigrer — plus on cherche 
a, l'abaisser plus on s'avilit soi-meme ; — le voyageur 
sourit de pitie en voyant effacer a grands frais les 
aigles, qui se trouvent sur les monumens qu'il a re- 
pass ou 61ev6s: — comme si la m&noire des faits 
devait perir avec les aigles!" The same work of 
destruction has been carried on at the Pantheon, 
where the fine mythological bas reliefs have been 
removed, though the example of St. Peter's at Rome 
might be pleaded in their justification ; and the in- 
scription on the frieze of the portico — " Aux grands 
homines la Patrie reconnoissante' — is about to give 
place to some more loyal and legitimate motto. 

Amongst the unfinished works of Napoleon is the 
Fountain, which he intended should be erected on the 
site of the Bastile. This fountain was to consist of 
an enormous elephant, the model of which is now to 



GOBELIN TAPESTRY. 507 

be seen in plaster of Paris, on the spot where the 
Bastile formerly stood. It is seventy-two feet in 
height ; the jet (Veau is through the nostrils of his 
trunk; the reservoir, in the tower upon his back; 
and one of his legs contains the staircase, for ascend- 
ing to the large room, in the inside of his belly. The 
Elephant was to be executed in bronze, with tusks of 
silver, surrounded by Lions of bronze ; who were to 
expectorate the water from one cistern to another. 
It is remarkable, how little the persons who live close 
to the Bastile know of the particulars which happened 
at the taking of that place by the populace, — an event 
which happened so short a time ago. And, in the 
accounts which have been published, there is scarcely 
a circumstance which is told in the same manner by 
any two narrators. 

From the site of the Bastile, I went to the manu- 
factory of Gobelin Tapestry. It is extremely curious 
to see the operations of this manufacture. The ma- 
terial on which the tapestry is worked consists merely 
of single threads ; which are placed upon a frame, 
over which the workman leans. The outline of the 
pattern is marked in black chalk, upon the threads ; 
and, the worsted being ready rolled, the artist then 
works it in, in the various proper shades, with no 
other direction to guide him than a coloured model 
which hangs near him. The extraordinary part of 
the work is, that he produces the desired effect, using 
the most brilliant colours and the softest gradations of 



508 INSTITUTION FOR THE DEAF AND DUMB, 

tints, with the happiest use of light and shadow, 
without looking at the fair side of his work in its 
progress ; — for it is the inside, which is always next 
to him. 

June 5th. Visited the Institution for the Deaf 
and Dumb ; — the most interesting of all the establish- 
ments in Paris. The system of education, invented 
by the benevolent Abb 6 de l'Ep£e for the education 
of these helpless children, shut out, as it would seem, 
by nature, from the chief sources of intelligence, has 
been prosecuted with equal success by the Abbe 
Sicard. The difficulty obviously consists, in estab- 
lishing a medium of communication with the mind of 
the pupil. The Abbe de l'Epee, who, without pre- 
ferment, or patronage, or other support, than that of 
his own patrimonial means, devoted his life and 
fortune to the maintenance and education of a large 
domestic establishment of deaf and dumb, surmounted 
the difficulty, and invented a method of conveying 
ideas to the mind, by means of visible signs. This is 
done by writing the names of things, and, by a re- 
gular system of signs, establishing a connexion 
between the written words, and the ideas to be 
excited by them. This ingenious system would 
appear at first sight to be almost impracticable ; but 
as the Abbe well observed, " the connexion between 
ideas and the articulate sounds, which are the ordinary 
means by which they are excited in the mind, is 
quite as arbitrary, as that between these ideas and the 



INSTITUTION FOR THE DEAF AND DUMB. 509 

written characters he used to represent them to the 
eye." 

The mind once stored with ideas, and a channel 
of communication established, the pupil is soon 
taught — what may be called the mechanical part of 
his education — the use and exercise of the organs of 
speech ; and, as a privation of any of the senses is 
found to produce a greater quickness in those that 
remain, the sense of sight becomes in the deaf and 
dumb so acute, that they can see the answer of the 
person with whom they converse, by observing the 
motion of the lips. 

Some of the definitions, which are recorded, as 
the impromptu answers of Massieu and Leclerc, two 
of M. Sicard's most celebrated pupils, at public 
examinations, are at once accurate and beautiful. 
To instance a few ; Eternite — un jour sans hier ni 
demain ; Reconnaissance — le m^moire du cceur ; des 
sens — des porte-idees. 

Many of the definitions of these pupils have been 
recorded ; but there are none more worthy of record 
than the answers which they made to the following 
question ; " Quelle difference il y a entre le desir 
et l'esperance ? " Massieu's reply is remarkable for 
metaphysical acuteness, and nice discrimination : " Le 
desir est une inclination du coeur; l'esperance — 
une confiance de l'esprit." Leclerc's answer displays 
more imagination, and is indeed less a definition than 
an illustration; — but it is a beautiful illustration: 



510 HOTEL DIEU. 

" he dew est une arbre en feuilles ; I'esperatice — 
un arbre en fleurs ; la jouissance — un arbre en 
fruits." 

The intellectual attainments of these persons, fur- 
nish the strongest argument against those doctrines, 
which would persuade us that the soul of man is only 
the result of the organs of sense. If any farther 
argument were needed to convince us of the imma- 
terial nature of the thinking being within us, we 
might surely find it in the example afforded by the 
deaf and dumb ; which seems to prove, that the 
soul's existence is independent of the senses ; — though 
their excitement may be required to call out its 
powers, and a certain material apparatus be necessary, 
to the manifestation of its faculties. 

It has been stated, as a singular coincidence, that a 
deaf and dumb pupil, being asked to define his idea of 
the sound of a trumpet, compared it to the colour red ; 
as Sanderson, the famous blind Mathematical Pro- 
fessor, used to explain his idea of the colour red, 
by likening it to the sound of a trumpet. 

Drove afterwards to the Hotel Dieu, one of the 
largest hospitals in Paris. Every thing was neat and 
clean; the furniture of the beds was white, and 
looked fresh and wholesome. In walking through 
the wards, though there was much to afflict the eye, 
there was nothing to offend any other sense. 

The French boast much of their surgical attain- 
ments ; and indeed their campaigns must have afford- 



LEAVE PARIS FOR DIEPPE. 511 

ed them the most ample opportunities of practice and 
experience. 

One improvement, I believe, they may have intro- 
duced, which has been found of extensive benefit in 
military practice ; — that of immediate amputation 
before inflammation takes place ; in opposition to the 
old established system of waiting till the inflammation 
had subsided. 

7th. Left Paris for Dieppe, travelling the lower 
road to Rouen; which passes along the banks of 
the Seine, and abounds more in picturesque prospect, 
than any other which I have yet seen in France ; though 
this is not saying much in its favour. But, the view 
of Rouen, from a height about a league from it, is 
very fine, and might be admired in any part of 
England. Normandy, indeed, in many of its fea- 
tures, bears a striking resemblance to England ; and 
the likeness increases as you advance from Rouen 
towards Dieppe, through the green and fertile valley, 
rich in pastures and orchards, and peopled with the 
cotton-workers, by means of which the French hope 
to rival our long-established superiority in that manu- 
facture. 

Having now arrived at Dieppe, the last stage of 
the French territory, I would willingly part with 
them in good humour. There are some amiable traits 
of character, which are universally prevalent, and 
must strike the most common observer. They are, 
almost without exception, a temperate people ; and, 



512 FRENCH CHARACTER. 

with wine at command, which may be bought for 
almost nothing, they rarely drink to excess. It 
must be confessed, too, that they are much kinder 
and gentler in their treatment of the brute part of 
the creation, than the lower orders of our own coun- 
try ; and indeed the appearance of the animals con- 
firms this opinion ; for you never see those maimed, 
broken-knee'd, miserable objects — the victims of ill- 
temper and ill-treatment — which so often shock one 
in England. 

Again, — if the French have a much greater share 
of vanity than their neighbours the islanders, they 
are at least untainted with that ludicrous sort of pride 
which thrives so prodigiously in England — setting a 
fool in fermentation, and swelling him out with in- 
flated ideas of self-importance ; — for, no one here 
is above speaking civilly to his inferior, how great 
soever the distance between them. The French too, 
in many instances exhibit a praiseworthy disregard 
of outward appearance, to which the English, from 
pride or mauvaise honte, practise so obsequious a 
submission. In France no man need fear sinking in 
the estimation of his friends, from the shabbiness of 
his coat, the height of his lodgings, or the fashion of 
his equipage. 

If I have seen little else to mention with com- 
mendation, it may be that I have been blinded by 
national prejudice ; for I believe it is difficult, if not 
impossible, to acquire that complete impartiality which 



DIEPPE 513 

is so necessary in the pursuit of truth. It would 
seem, that a man's head was like a bowl, and that he 
came into the world, with a certain bias impressed 
upon it by the hand of nature herself. This bias in 
an Englishman's head disposes him to dislike every 
thing belonging to a Frenchman. I confess, till I 
had resided in France, I used to think that this pre- 
judice was carried much too far ; but I leave it, 
with a most devout wish, that it may never be my 
misfortune to reside in it again ; and a very strong 
hope that the national feeling, which has so long kept 
us a distinct people in all our habits, feelings, and 
principles, may long continue to be cherished ; and 
that the sound and sufficient sentiment of love of 
country may never be laughed out of countenance, 
by the vain and visionary nonsense of universal phi- 
lanthropy. 

9th. Dieppe. Labor ultimus ! — Ascended the 
cliff to snuff up the gale that comes from Old England. 
" Oh England! England! thou land of liberty — thou 
climate of good sense — thou tenderest of mothers and 
gentlest of nurses ;" — How I long to embrace thee 
again ! And yet now that I am within twelve hours' 
sail of thee, and that I can approach thee with 
amended health and brighter prospects, I feel a 
strange mixture of apprehension and anxiety. Who 
has not felt, though parting from friends is the 
severest of all trials, that meeting again is not with- 
out its disquietudes ; especially after a long absence 

2 L 



514 LABOR ULTIMUS. 

from those with whom we have been in the constant 
habit of thinking, talking, and acting? In such a 
situation a man fears lest he should find his friends, 
or lest his friends should find him, changed ; lest 
absence should have made such a gap in the chain 
which united them in the bonds of affection, that it 
may be doubtful whether the links will ever fit in 
together again. I believe I was led into this train 
of thought by a passage in Atala, a wild little book 
of delightfully romantic nonsense, by Chateaubriand : 
— " Mais que parle-je de la puissance des amities de 
la terre ? Illusion ! Chim£re ! R&ve d'une ima- 
gination blessee ! Vanite des vanites! Si un homme 
revenait a la lumiere quelques annees apres sa mort, 
je doute qu'il fut revu avec joie par ceux-la memes, 
qui ont verse le plus de larmes a, sa memoire ; — tant 
on forme vite des autres liaisons, — tant l'inconstance 
est naturelle a l'homme !" But the packet is ready, 
and the wind is favourable ; — 

June 10th. On board. The cliffs of Dieppe are 
as white as those of Albion ; a name which we have 
been taught was applied to our own island, from 
something peculiar and remarkable in the colour of 
its rocks. This similarity of materials, strengthens 
the notion, that, at some remote period, the sea 
burst through the straits, and divided us from the 
continent; — a thought, which is well expressed by 
Mason, when he makes old ocean tear Britannia 

— — " from reluctant Gaul 
" And bid her be his queen." 



CONCLUSION, 



515 



Long may she retain her sceptre ;— and long may 
she continue to inspire such feelings as now rise 
within me, in approaching her shores, and make me 
exult in the reflection that I was born an English- 
man : — 

Taurus rot ysveys re xou ai^arog st^opx* thai ! 



FINIS. 



ERRATA. 
Page Line 

xiii. For Lake of Thurn, read Lake of Thuu. 

9, 8, For sailor, read sailer. 

50, 13, For and indeed Eustace has exhausted it, read if indeed Eustace have not 
exhausted it. 
124, 26, For Lycaaes, read Lichas; and /or Ddalus, read Daedalus. 
174, 3, For has, read had ; and in line 7, for had, read has. 

211, 4, For of, read and. 
314, 15, For is, read are. 
361, For romantic, read romance. 

430, 19, For la verite, et rien que la verite, read la verite, toute la verite, et rien que 

la verite. 
440, For delightful, read delightfully. 

488, 5, For nota, read nata. 
509, 18, For des, read les. 



LONDON: 

Printed by W. Clowes, Northumberland-court. 

CD 
4* 



105^ 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 4©D 2001 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 
(724)779-2111 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



